Web of Lies
by jenron12
Summary: When an unknown source threatens to break Gillian's trust in Cal, she's forced to see the truth through his eyes. Set in season 2, post "Exposed." Epilogue has been ammended as of 1/20/13. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I don't own LTM* or any of the characters... but oh how I would love to borrow Cal for a while.**_

_**This story takes place during season 2, after "Exposed" and before "Darkness and Light." Several of the upcoming chapters will have flashbacks that help fill in a few of the missing pieces as to what is going on between these two. And lastly, in my little world, Wallowski doesn't exist. :) Thanks for reading!**_

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><p>The package had been delivered earlier that morning, wrapped in a plain brown envelope and marked only with her name on the front. "Doctor Gillian Foster," the label read. And even that much had been typed… there wasn't one single handwritten word to help her identify the sender. She wasn't overly suspicious; the Lightman Group had plenty of security measures, after all. They'd survived bombs and gunmen and even a few kidnappings – anything threatening tended to charge full force through the front door, totally conspicuous and unafraid of capture. One abnormal piece of mail barely gave her pause at all.<p>

So it was with mild curiosity that Gillian slid the sharp metal point of her letter opener through the seal and peered at the contents inside. She saw only a few printed pages, and she casually spilled them onto her desktop, not expecting anything of real importance.

The pages landed face-up in front of her in a rather haphazard pile, and for a moment she didn't really focus on the specifics… she saw that they were all photographs, and that they were all candid shots of a rather intimate nature. But the most important details didn't hit her until several seconds later.

And when they did, she felt physically ill – like someone had knocked all the air from her lungs with one swift punch to the gut.

It was _Cal's_ face staring back at her, completely oblivious to the camera lens… _Cal's_ eyes that were foggy with desire as he kissed the beautiful blonde woman in his arms… _Cal's_ hands that rested high on her thigh as he leaned into her body. Gillian pulled her hand away from the photos as if she'd been burned. Instantly, she felt tears begin to sting her eyes.

Whoever sent them was good. Damn good. If they wanted a reaction, they most certainly got one. She didn't know whether to cry or hit something. Part of her was tempted to do both. She'd never felt so foolish.

He had lied to her. All of that crap about 'no more secrets' had apparently just been a line. Just lip service, to smooth over the situation with Burns. And when he said he wanted her… _in the worst possible way. _Was that all just part of the con? At first, she'd thought he was bluffing – thought it was all part of the act. But since Dave left, Cal had been… _different_, somehow. He'd been less destructive and more caring. Baby steps. Not rushing into anything. Not risking anything.

Maybe _that_ had all been part of the con, too.

The longer she looked at those pictures, the more furious she became – furious with him for acting like some Casanova reincarnate, and furious with herself for thinking that they were finally on the road to something stable. Something permanent. Something more than just friendship.

Gillian tried to blink away the unshed tears and then fanned her hands in front of her face to cool herself. She would not cry. Not now, not here, not this time. Not when Cal could walk through her office door at any second, unannounced and able to see right through her. He'd probably accuse her of being jealous and smothering and get a little thrill out of it in the process. It was a familiar pattern with them – their own game of cat and mouse, so to speak. Cal always liked to push his limits with her.

And she _was_ jealous… irrationally so. She just wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it this time.

Sighing deeply, Gillian picked up the first photograph to study Cal's face. Arousal… excitement… determination. She read every expression and filed them all away in her mind, like some kind of twisted scorecard. The second image was no different – although, she had to hand it to the photographer. He'd really zoomed in for a close-up on that one, leaving her with little doubt that the woman with Cal was enjoying it just as much as he was.

Was that the whole point of this little game? To make her want what she couldn't have?

On instinct, she raised one photograph in front of her and poised her fingers on opposite corners, ready to rip the image apart inch by inch until the last traces of his satisfied expression had been erased. She was hurt and she was angry, and in that moment the last face she wanted to see was that of Cal Lightman, in print or otherwise.

At then as if on cue, she heard the unmistakable sound of his footsteps approaching her office and she scowled. _Of course_, she thought. _Everything else about this day has gone completely to hell – why not this?_

Gillian sighed and dropped the photo back onto the desktop with the others. She didn't try to hide them – there was no point.

Without bothering to knock, Cal popped his head in her doorway and flashed her a charming smile. "There you are, love," he greeted, completely oblivious to the pictures on her desk and the anger that she felt. "Fancy a bite of lunch? I'm feeling a tad peckish myself and I thought you might like to join me."

Gillian barely looked at him – she knew he would be able to read her, and she wanted to avoid the confrontation that was bound to happen when he did. Well, not avoid it entirely – but at least postpone it until she'd had a chance to calm down a bit. An angry Foster versus a defensive Lightman wasn't exactly an office appropriate event. Best to wait until the rest of the staff had gone home, and she could strangle him in peace. "I'll pass," she answered brusquely. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

She swiveled her chair away from him, pretending to be engrossed in a case file. If ever she'd tried to dismiss anyone, it was now – she just hoped he'd catch on and not question her.

"Bit harsh there, Gill," he replied, mockingly clutching his hand to his chest in a wounded gesture. "Least you could do is look at a guy when you shoot him down. Especially one who was going to treat you to dessert."

Cal shuffled toward her couch and flopped across the end that was closest to her desk. She could feel him watching her, weighing his options. "A chocolate dessert, at that," he finally offered, and she could hear the hurt in his voice.

Gillian still faced away from him, absently thumbing through the pages in the file she held. "I'm not hungry."

_Don't elaborate_, she thought. _Maybe he'll take the hint and leave. _

She heard the rustle of fabric as Cal shifted on the sofa… heard the change in his breathing as he mulled his next move. He didn't speak for several seconds, and when he did, the hurt in his voice had been wiped away. "Want to talk about it, Foster?"

_So it was back to Foster now_, she mused. Distancing language… Cal was in self-preservation mode. He knew she was angry with him, but he had no idea why.

Gillian didn't react at all. She _knew_ she should bite her tongue, and she probably would have, if not for his next few words.

"Alright then, maybe we can just skip the talking all together – jump right to the 'kiss and make up' part, yeah?" His tone was dismissive and joking, and it only served to make her angrier.

Of course he didn't mean anything by it… he wasn't _trying_ to make things worse. He was just doing what he always did, hoping to flirt his way out of trouble. Cal could be extremely charming when he wanted to be. Especially with her. But he also had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

_Like right now._

Gillian could see herself almost from a third-person perspective. She watched her hands ball into fists against her desktop and then spun in her chair to face him head-on. She knew her expression screamed anger, and based on Cal's reaction, he clearly hadn't been expecting the severity of it. His mouth fell open in surprise before she had even spoken.

"Funny you should mention kissing," she spat. "Seems you've been doing a lot of that these days."

Cal recoiled, clearly stung by the anger behind her words. And when he did, a tiny voice in the back of Gillian's head began to nag her, insisting that Cal was not hers, and he could damn well kiss whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it at all.

He stood from the couch and approached her, not stopping until he rounded the corner of her desk and stood inches from her chair. His proximity forced her to look up at him, but she did not rise. "Something you want to say to me, then?" he asked.

Gillian glared, and simply reached for one of the photographs. She spun it in his direction, so that it pointed up at him as he hovered over her chair, and then tapped it angrily with her finger. "You know what they say, Cal," she said. "A picture is worth a thousand words."

Her tone was harsh and accusatory, and it took a few seconds for him to drop his gaze to the desktop. When he finally did look down to find his own face staring back, he was stunned. Literally speechless. A thousand questions instantly fired through his brain and fought for dominance. Who the hell took those pictures? Why on earth did they send them to Gillian? And why was the sight of them enough to make her look like she was ready to murder him?

Cal didn't know what to say or how to say it – but he knew he had to say _something_. He became fixated on Gillian's face and on all the emotions that flashed across it. Anger, predominantly… disappointment… sadness… and _there_, just a tiny little flicker of something she was doing her best to hide. Something she most definitely didn't want him to see. Jealousy.

He blinked rapidly and squinted, not trusting himself to have seen it correctly. She was jealous? Of that woman who wouldn't take no for an answer when he insisted that he was _not_ interested? That yes, he _did_ have someone special in his life. She'd pretty much thrown herself at him after two drinks, latching onto his mouth before he'd even seen it coming. Damn near took a crowbar to pry her away.

Hell, he didn't even remember her name.

Hindsight told him it was a really stupid move, but the words were out of his mouth before his better judgment could stop them. "Can't even remember her name, love."

He spoke the words gently… quietly. He was still in disbelief over the jealousy, and the last thing he meant to do was make anything worse, or make it sound like he was bragging – as if that woman was some kind of nameless conquest he'd just thrown aside.

But clearly that's what Gillian heard.

She was livid.

She slowly stood from her chair and faced him, folding her arms across her chest in a classic defensive posture. Cal could see the entire scene unfolding like some kind of twisted misunderstanding. He knew he needed to fix this before Gillian read more into the situation than was actually there. Before anger overran every other emotion he'd seen until she couldn't feel anything else.

His gut reaction was to apologize. Smooth it over, let her yell at him, and then walk away. He opened his mouth to do just that, and _that's_ when it hit him. She had no reason to be jealous unless…

_Holy shit. _For a moment, Cal thought he might actually faint. After years of her sodding line and all the rules that went with it – all the hugs and the side-of-the-mouth kisses that left him full of an aching desire to snuff the bloody thing out and tell her how he _really_ felt – was she finally ready for something more? It was almost more than he could process.

"Gillian, I…"

"Save it, Cal. I'm not interested in the details."

She brushed past him and headed for the doorway, leaving the photographs forgotten behind her.

He took two steps to follow her, finally managing to speak just as she reached the threshold. The entire situation was going straight to hell, and he was in a bit of a panic. "You don't understand, Gill," he shouted. "It's not what you think. _She_ came on to _me_. And all I wanted…"

Gillian's gaze shot to his and the rest of the words died on his tongue. She raised her hands in front of her chest to stop him, letting him know she didn't want to hear anymore. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was finished.

Gillian shook her head and set her mouth in a firm line. Her eyes stared daggers at him, and she let out a noise of quiet disgust. "You must think I'm some kind of idiot, huh?" she said. "_In the worst possible way."_

Cal swallowed. His eyes were wide and his expression was an equal mix of confusion and irritation. She'd _heard_ that? He wasn't sure she had, until now. Truth be told, he'd only meant to say it to Burns. And the guys with the guns. But not to Gillian… not like that.

"Gillian, let me explain," he implored, his voice rising in intensity as she flashed an expression of contempt and turned away again.

"Save it." The words were cold and harsh, and she barely looked back over her shoulder as she spoke them.

She stepped through her doorway and started to walk away from him again. He could hear the rapid click of her heels as she went, and for a moment he was frozen. By the time his body caught up with his brain and he was able to walk again, she was several paces away.

Cal was getting angry. This was all just one giant misunderstanding, but she wouldn't give him the chance to explain. She wouldn't even look at him, much less listen to reason. In Gillian's mind, he'd told her that he wanted her, and then only a few days later picked up some random blonde in some random bar – and thanks to some as yet nameless tosser that Cal now wanted to rip limb from limb, she had the photographic evidence to back it all up.

She didn't know the truth at all. She didn't know the words he'd spoken as he turned that woman down… or how the taste of her lips against his only made him positive that he never wanted to taste anyone other than Gillian for the rest of his life. And now she was all but convicting him of a betrayal he hadn't committed.

"Damn it Foster!" he shouted after her. "Don't you dare walk away from me."

The clarity of hindsight kicked in once again, and Cal winced at his own words. He shouldn't have shouted at her – shouldn't have said anything that could be interpreted as an ultimatum or a threat of any kind. It would only feed the fire of Gillian's anger, not calm it.

But it _did_ get her attention. She stopped immediately, turned on her heel in a furious slow motion pivot, and stared him down from several feet away. "What did you see in her, Cal?"

That was a dangerous question, and he wasn't sure if there was a right way to answer it. The truth was, he'd seen nothing in that woman. He'd rebuffed her, tossed back the last of his drink, and left that bar alone – and then he'd spent the entire night in his bed thinking only of Gillian.

_Irony was a real bitch. _

"Gillian, please," he implored. "Please don't do this here." His irritation was barely controlled, but he made an effort to soften his voice this time because one of them needed to stay rational. He'd never seen Gillian like this – not once, in all the years he'd known her.

"I'm not _trying_ to do this here. I'm _trying_ to leave so that I can calm down. You're the one who keeps stopping me."

"That's because you won't listen to reason."

"Reason? Alright, fine. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't walk out that door right now."

Cal didn't know what to say. His irritation was steadily turning into anger and the longer she stared at him with that horrible look of disdain, the more he could feel himself starting to lose control. And so he didn't say anything. He tried, of course… cleared his throat and stuttered a bit, but it didn't amount to anything. The silence between them was deafening.

Gillian was the first to break it. "You know what, Cal? It's your loss. Because you'll just end up with someone half as good as me, anyway," she spat. She knew she sounded jealous and petty and completely irrational. She just didn't have the patience anymore to care.

By this time, they'd drawn a crowd. Loker and Torres lingered nearby, too curious to leave and too smart to speak up and get involved. Cal stole a glance at them, fuming silently that this was all playing out now. When his attention turned back to Gillian, he let the raw anger flash across his face unchecked. His eyes were slits and his nostrils flared as he bit back a reply.

Gillian smiled smugly at him, thinking she'd gotten the last word. She turned sharply on her heel and was halfway down the corridor away from him when his chortled reply stopped her cold.

"Bollocks, Foster," he shouted. "That's complete and utter crap, and you know it."

Despite their distance, there was no mistaking the fire in Gillian's eyes when she turned to face him again. "Right," she sneered, sarcasm thick and dripping as she took a few paces toward him. "Because the infallible Cal Lightman always gets exactly what he wants, doesn't he?"

Cal's mouth dropped opened in stunned silence. His gaze flitted between Gillian – furious and fuming – and the silent faces of the other staff members who had gathered behind Loker and Torres to watch the entire spectacle. It was a proverbial train wreck, right in the middle of the Lightman Group's main corridor, but Gillian didn't seem to care that they had an audience.

She put her hands on her hips defiantly and pressed on, undeterred. "What's that?" she mocked. "No witty reply, Cal? Come on now – we both know you always have to get the last word. It must be killing you to know that I'm right. To know that I've finally woken up and faced the truth."

And with that, Cal snapped. He charged toward her, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. To hell with the audience. He was so furious he was almost vibrating. "Bullshit, Foster," he spat. "You wouldn't know the truth of this if it bit you in the arse."

In that moment, Cal was a man at his breaking point – anyone could have seen it. Loker and Torres each took a few steps backward, making sure they were both well out of his line of fire. And if Gillian hadn't known him so well, she might have been worried too. She might have been concerned that he would strike out at her, verbally or otherwise. But that wasn't Cal, and no matter how unhinged he looked in that second, she wasn't afraid of him.

All she expected him to do was to stare her down – to try and invade her personal space and intimidate her, just like she'd seen him do at least a hundred times with a hundred different suspects. And it almost always ended the same way. Cal won, his opponent tucked tail and ran, and the infamous Lightman ego grew bigger with every victory.

Gillian was determined not to give him the satisfaction. She would hold her ground. She would stand right there in front of him and take it – he could get right up in her face, say whatever he wanted, but she would most certainly not back down this time.

_Not. This. Time._

The very small part of her brain that was still thinking rationally tried to warn her. Tried to tap her on the shoulder and whisper that she was being impulsive and jealous and that she needed to shut up before she said something she would really regret.

But that inner voice was quiet, and the rest of her was damn near screaming.

"Then why don't you enlighten me, _Lightman_," she mocked. "Why don't you try complete honesty for once? After all these years, you owe me at least that much."

Cal stepped closer to her then, just as she'd known he would. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face – feel the angry heat radiating from his body directly onto hers. She knew it was a challenge; he wanted her to back down and let it go. But she didn't budge… didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't move at all, save for the path her eyes followed as they locked onto his.

Any good psychologist knows that the line between anger and passion is a fine one, and so she should have seen it coming a mile away. But she didn't notice that split second when it all changed – when the fiery glint in Cal's eye shifted from fury to stubborn resolve. She didn't expect him to grab for her, to pull her by the wrists until her chest was flush against his. She didn't expect him to wrap one hand around the back of her neck and the other around her waist. And she certainly didn't expect the words he whispered through his gritted teeth as he tightened his fingers in her hair and tilted her face up toward his.

"You want the truth?" he growled.

She knew it was rhetorical, but his voice was a dare, as if he didn't think she could handle the truth. And so she tossed out one of her own in reply. "Don't lie to me now."

As soon as her words hit the air, his lips crashed upon hers and she gasped against his mouth. There was no pretense – no whispered words of praise or affection, or any of the other things she'd always imagined their first kiss would be. Cal was desperate and domineering, and completely unmindful of their audience.

Gillian was thrown off balance. She stumbled against him, letting her hands rest on his shoulders for support as he opened his mouth and plunged his tongue against hers, stroking with wild intensity. She felt his fingers flexing against her waist, felt his heartbeat pounding against her chest… felt her own resolve slipping with each passing second as she started to melt against him. She was too overwhelmed to still be angry, and too distracted to care.

At some point, Gillian's hands began to clutch at him. She fisted his shirt in her fingers, pulling him tighter against her body even as her inner voice was screaming that she needed to break away. _This_ was not the way it was supposed to happen. _This_ was crazy… it was reckless and destructive and dangerous, and a thousand other things that could potentially break her heart. Just one kiss, and the man had completely thrown her into a tailspin.

And the scariest part? She felt completely alive in his arms. It was exhilarating.

With no warning, Cal wrenched his lips from hers and brought both hands to frame her face. They were inches apart now, both out of breath and emotionally exhausted. Gillian's mouth fell open in surprise, and she stood silently blinking at him, trying to make sense out of what had just happened… of what was now going to change between them.

Cal let out one deep, shaky breath and then cupped her cheek in his palm. He looked directly into her eyes to speak the words that would hit her like a punch to the gut. "It's you or no one, Gillian. That's the bloody truth, and it always has been. And if I can't have you, then I don't want anyone else."

His voice was different now – the anger was gone, replaced by a clear pang of regret. Gillian blanched; she opened her mouth to say _something_, but the words wouldn't come.

Cal took a small step backwards, letting his left hand linger against her cheek for one final second before he turned and walked away. Gillian was left staring after him. She couldn't move, couldn't speak… could barely even breathe. Only one clear thought rang through her mind.

_What the hell have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and feedback for this new story - it is much appreciated!** _

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><p>Gillian was stunned. For several moments she just stood there, staring after Cal and berating herself for causing such an inappropriate scene in front of their staff. She had no idea what to say to them now – or how to make them stop staring at her like she was some kind of wounded animal. Pity, laced with compassion. She was so embarrassed.<p>

Part of her wanted to run after him. If she hurried, she knew she could probably catch him in the parking lot. But then what? Offer some half-assed apology for behaving like a jealous nut, suggest that they wipe the slate clean, and then take him up on that lunch offer? No, this was a game changer – one she had no idea how to handle.

She'd pretty much backed him into a corner, and forced him to admit feelings that he obviously wasn't ready to face under normal circumstances. They couldn't just move forward and pretend it never happened. _He'd kissed her_, for God's sake. He'd kissed her and even as angry as she was when it started, by the time he pulled away her knees were threatening to buckle and her limbs were shaking and every fiber in her being was screaming that she couldn't wait to do it again. Gillian sighed, brought her hands to her temples to try and will away the massive headache that was already forming, and shook her head in self-disgust.

She tried her best to re-focus, and then glanced at the staff members that were still milling around her. Torres and Loker were there of course, along with a few interns who didn't have either the common sense or the experience to know when to walk away. They seemed as dazed as Gillian did, and who could blame them. It wasn't every day the equity partners were embroiled in a shouting match and full-on make out session in the middle of the office. That was something they certainly didn't cover during orientation.

After a few awkward moments, it was Loker who finally came to Gillian's rescue. He nodded in her direction, just to make sure he wasn't overstepping any boundaries, and then he started to wave everyone away. "Crazy comes with the territory around here – you might as well get used to it," he quipped.

Gillian shot him a grateful smile and quickly ducked back into her office. Time for some damage control, she decided. She made a beeline for her desk, knowing full well that Loker would follow closely behind her (_and probably drag Torres along with him_), and she wanted to hide those pictures before anyone else could see them. There was no use making the situation any worse than it already was.

Not even one full minute later, she heard Loker's heavy footsteps fall in line behind her. He paused, seeming to second guess himself, and then finally went ahead and asked the inevitable. "No disrespect intended here, Doctor Foster, but I just have to ask – what the hell was that?"

'_Well, that certainly didn't take long_,' she told herself.

She'd managed to gather the photographs and had stacked them face-down beneath their envelope before Eli started speaking, but by the time he finished the sentence, he had rounded the corner of her desk and was staring down at its surface from over her shoulder. Clearly he'd learned a thing or two from Cal Lightman about the boundaries of personal space.

Gillian sighed. "It's private," she said, trying like hell to keep the comments short and simple to avoid anything else spiraling out of control. The less everyone knew about her… _situation_ with Cal, the better.

Her eyes locked with Loker's, silently pleading with him to just let the whole thing drop. Maybe he would have, if Torres hadn't forced the issue the second she walked into the room.

"That's a half truth," Torres quickly observed. "I don't mean any disrespect here, either, but I think there's something you're not telling us. You and Lightman have always had a personal friendship, and you've never reacted to him like that. You've never reacted to _anything_ like that."

_Damn it, damn it, damn it_. Gillian squeezed her eyes shut and tried to slow her breathing. This was _not_ going well. She hadn't even heard Torres approaching them, but when she looked up again, the younger woman stood in front of her, side by side with Loker.

Loker nodded, not missing a beat. Any hope of him letting the matter drop was completely gone now. "My guess is that it has something to do with those pages she's trying to hide," he said, gesturing at the photographs that were peeking out from beneath the corners of their envelope.

When he pointed, Gillian looked down and saw that her hand was now a closed fist resting on top of them – a classic defensive gesture, one she only realized because he called attention to it. She immediately unclenched her fingers and then let them splay loosely atop the documents, but she did not let go.

She tried to keep her features as neutral as possible. On the inside she was a wreck, but there was no way she was going to let that emotion show on the outside. Not consciously, at least. And definitely not around these two. They'd pick up the scent of her frustration like a couple of bloodhounds. "I'm very sorry you both had to see that," she said, making a valiant effort to keep emotion out of her voice. "I'm very sorry that _anyone_ had to see that. It was completely inappropriate, and trust me – it will not happen again."

Loker and Torres didn't say a word. They just stared, nodding almost imperceptibly as they studied her. There was no malice in their attitude at all – they showed nothing but genuine curiosity and honest observation, and Gillian imagined this was exactly how some of their witnesses felt when called in for an interview with either one of them. Except that she wasn't a witness – she was their boss, and she'd stupidly thrown herself headlong into the path of their scrutiny. It was totally unnerving.

A few seconds later, Loker was the first to break the silence. He pointed toward Gillian's shoulder and quirked a brow in surprise. "You saw that, didn't you?" he turned to ask Torres. "That little…"

"… one-sided shrug?" Torres finished. "The one she tried to hide when she told us it would not happen again? Yep, sure did. Hate to break it to you, Doctor Foster, but we know you don't believe that."

Gillian wanted to bang her head against the wall in frustration. Quickly running out of options and still determined to work things out by herself, she tried to switch tactics, hoping she could get them to back down. "You think I don't believe what, _Ria_?"

Loker and Torres smiled simultaneously, like they shared some mysterious secret to which she wasn't privy. "She called you Ria," Loker quickly noted. He nudged Torres in the side with his elbow, like the sound of it was funny somehow. "Foster wants to make sure we still understand that she's the one in charge here, not us."

"Well that's only natural," Torres replied. "After what we all saw in that hallway, it makes perfect sense that she'd want structure and order now. Keep us within our boundaries, so to speak."

Her tone bordered on condescending, but Gillian decided to let it go… it was definitely a day to pick her battles. A second later, she dropped her head, defeated. She was dealing with one natural and one behavioral scientist that was far more capable than Cal would ever admit aloud – and they had both been trained by the master himself. There was no point fighting it anymore. Whatever defense she tried to wear, they'd simply continue to tear it down one micro-expression at a time until they dragged the truth right out of her. It was just in their nature.

She wanted to cry; wanted to curl herself up into a little ball and ignore everything until the pounding in her head stopped or she figured out a way to deal with her feelings about Cal – whichever came first. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and lifted her hand from the pages on her desk to push them slightly aside, in Loker's direction. Then she lifted her eyes to his and gave a slightly affirmative nod as he reached for them.


	3. Chapter 3

Cal slammed the door of his Prius so bloody loudly that he caught the attention of a few pedestrians who were walking near the Lightman Group lot. Two of them actually stopped to stare at him for a moment – one older man who wore a genuinely concerned expression, and one younger who looked mostly annoyed by the disruption. Cal scowled at both of them, though the car's tinted windows gave little chance that either man had seen it.

He was totally wound up – angry, agitated, frustrated… you name it, Cal felt it. There was so much nervous energy flooding through his system that his hands were shaking and he couldn't keep his feet still. Balling up one fist, he slammed it into the steering wheel, hard. And then he did it again. By the time he was finished, his hand was throbbing but he didn't care. At that moment, physical pain was preferable to any of his other options.

Cal was no stranger to 'fight or flight,' but this was new. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd react that way in front of Gillian – not over anything, and especially not after he'd kissed her. _He'd kissed her_, for God's sake. It had been full of raw, desperate, _dangerous_ emotion. And he'd known it was wrong even as his arms pulled her tighter against his body and his hands began to tunnel through her hair. It was wrong, but sod it all, he wanted to do it again.

But instead of staying behind and facing everything like a man, he tucked tail and ran right out the front door away from her. He couldn't bring himself to stay and face the rejection. What a mess. He finally found the balls to tell her how he felt, and it just happened to be at the same exact moment when she could have happily strangled him.

_Their timing sucked. _

For a few minutes he just sat in the car and watched the front door of the building, hoping she'd chase after him. But then what? Offer her some half-assed apology for those words he shouted when he insisted there would never be anyone else but her? Well, alright… maybe he should apologize for the shouting, but he'd never apologize for what he'd said.

'_It's you or no one, Gillian. If I can't have you, then I don't want anyone else.'_

His own words kept repeating themselves on a constant loop in his mind – he meant them, from the bottom of his heart, but it wouldn't surprise him at all if Gillian didn't believe any of it. History wasn't on his side, and Gillian was in the unfortunate position of having seen it all with a front row seat. All those times she watched him crawl back to Zoe... that whole mess in Vegas with Poppy… and then there was Clara, which he'd let go on far longer than he should have. No wonder those pictures stung.

_Of course_ she thought that he and that woman had…

Cal let out a shaky breath. There was a big difference between letting someone in your bed, and letting someone in your heart. Hell, there hadn't been anyone _but_ Gillian in his heart for a very long time. And the irony didn't escape him that they probably wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if he'd ever bothered to tell her that before today.

All the self-hatred was starting to get to him. He needed to move – needed to _do_ something. Damage control, so to speak. There were questions to be answered, and he damn well wanted to find those answers. So he shook off the tingling in his fingers, threw the seatbelt across his lap, and sped off out of the parking lot toward the only place it seemed sensible to start – at the beginning.

* * *

><p>Cal burst through the front door like a man on a mission. Which was fitting, of course, since that's exactly how he felt. He was a scowling, angry mess and the handful of other patrons that eyed him on his way inside literally veered out of his path. He brushed right past the hostess stand – literally waving off the young girl who stood there in attendance gaping after him – and plowed through the dimly lit lounge area toward the bar in the back.<p>

Given the hour, the place was fairly empty. He saw a few yuppie professionals grabbing a quick lunch before heading back to their desk jobs, a few down-and-outers sprinkled on stools and nursing their bottomless drinks, and there in the corner – just as he hoped he'd find her – was the woman he'd now recognize anywhere. She was still nameless, but that face was now permanently etched in his mind.

He'd had her pegged correctly within the first five minutes after she'd sidled up to him that night. Lecherous, she was. Beautiful, young, and willing… definitely a dangerous combination. He was damn near certain she was a professional – just not the kind that worked a 9-5 job. She was too careful to work the streets, and too addicted to walk away from the lifestyle.

Cal sneered and slid into the booth next to her before she even recognized his presence. His weight on the bench beside her caught her attention and she flashed a look of genuine surprise, mixed with an undeniable flash of excitement. Then she eyed him slowly, up and down, and he watched her brow quirk in a silent question as if asking why he was there in the first place.

Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips and her posture changed – she straightened her back and puffed out her chest, which, in combination with the low cut neckline of her blouse, probably would have made a lesser man crumble. But not Cal… he hadn't been interested last time, and he sure as hell wasn't interested now.

He threw his arm across the back of the seat behind her, and then turned his body so that it blocked hers from leaving. That was his entire intention – just to keep her there, until he could get some bloody answers. But the sultry smile she shot him in return told him that she didn't interpret it in that way.

She dropped a hand to his thigh and he instantly jerked, feeling his muscles tense at the uninvited gesture. It was yet another thing she misinterpreted.

"Well hello there," she purred. "I'd ask you to join me, but you've taken that much upon yourself, haven't you?"

Her smile shifted to playful and feisty, but instead of feeling excited under the heat of her stare, Cal could feel his anger starting to build again, slow and steady. She gave a breathy laugh as Cal studied her face. He was looking for any sign of a genuine reaction… something beyond the whole sex-kitten vibe that she was trying to work. A flash of recognition, fear, apprehension – anything useful, even if it was small. But there was nothing. Genuine interest with a hint of arousal, and nothing more.

So he leaned in toward her, literally crowding her into the corner of the bench, hoping to draw out a reaction. And then _he_ looked _her_ up and down, and checked her face again.

Still nothing.

_Bloody hell_. He'd automatically assumed that this woman was the immediate connection to the person that sent those damn pictures. That she'd been in on the whole thing from the get go, and _that_ had been the sole reason for her aggressive behavior that night. He'd assumed that she'd been working him because _someone else_ wanted her to do it. That _someone else_ had something to gain from watching him with her – and that they just hadn't expected him to refuse the advances.

But she looked at him expectantly, her breathing shallow and rapid, and he had his answer. She didn't remember him, either.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thanks for all the kind words, everyone!** _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is a flashback chapter.**

**I made a quick mention of these earlier in the story, but wanted to bring it up again. This one takes place during the end of "Exposed," after Burns leaves but before the cafe scene. There will be at least 4 flashback chapters. I borrowed a few lines of dialogue from the episode - I don't claim to own those lines. **

**Thanks again for reading and for all the feedback & reviews - you all are great!**

* * *

><p>"<em>I'll meet you back at your apartment, okay?"<em>

_She smiled warmly at him, so relieved that he was standing there in front of her, alive and mostly intact. She stretched up to kiss him, but somehow her lips landed at the corner of his mouth. _

_Dave raised right hand to touch her cheek, casting his eyes down and away before speaking. "I'll see you there." He'd already begun to walk away before the first words reached her ears._

_She held his hand until the last possible second, when distance and momentum finally pulled it from her grasp. And she watched him until he rounded the corner of the room, feeling utterly sick as all the pieces started to fall into place. It was like some kind of delayed reaction… the scientist in her should have seen all the clues, but she'd ignored them all, hoping they weren't true. That this time, she'd gotten it wrong._

_She took a handful of hesitant, stuttering steps out into the hallway, looking down the corridor after him. She heard Cal's footsteps approach from behind, just as tentative as hers had been, but she didn't look back. She couldn't._

_Gillian's face morphed from confusion to sadness to resolve. Cal stood beside her now, as if he was just waiting for the moment when it hit her. "He doesn't want me to follow him," she said, speaking more to herself than anyone else. As if hearing those words aloud somehow confirmed them in her own mind._

"_No," he muttered as she nodded along. "They're gonna move him. Change his name." Cal sounded as broken as she felt – and a part of her thought she saw a flash of something shift through his eyes… as if it hurt him to have to say those words to her._

_There were a thousand things she wanted to say in that moment, but when she finally opened her mouth to speak, one short sentence summed it all up pretty well. "I liked the one he had."_

_It had taken everything she had not to cry then, but she couldn't. Not yet. _

"_Gillian, I…"_

_Cal's words were soft and tentative as he called to her, but she raised one hand to stop him. She didn't want to talk, and she didn't want to listen. Not to Cal, and not to anyone. It just hurt too much. _

_Her voice was broken when she finally spoke again. "Please," she warned. "Not yet." And then she walked away from him, without another word._

* * *

><p><em>The text message came just as she walked through her front door. "I'm here if you need me."<em>

_Gillian frowned, pushed the phone back into her jacket pocket, and felt the tears welling up again. Of course she needed him, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet. _

_She dropped her bag on the floor just inside the doorway, not much caring where it landed. She tossed her keys on the counter and then looked around her empty apartment with a sigh. Darkness had already begun to fall, and the rooms were bathed in the low light of evening. She found it comforting, somehow. As if the shadows hid the emptiness she wasn't ready to face. _

_Not knowing what else to do, she padded upstairs to change clothes but brushed off the idea of a shower. She just didn't have the energy for it, and quite frankly, she didn't much care how she looked or how she smelled. There was no one else there to see her anyway._

_She tossed her jacket across the end of the bed, and as soon as it hit the comforter, her phone buzzed again. "I just need to know you're alright. Please."_

_But she wasn't alright, and so she didn't reply. _

_She'd been so damned angry with Cal in that warehouse, watching him poke and prod at Dave as if he was any other mark and it was any other case. It was dangerous, and reckless, and he could have damn well gotten any one of them (if not all of them) killed. Cal hadn't much cared that she was scared shitless… he hadn't much cared about anything at all, other than the fact that he was right. That his methods were right. To hell with everything else. _

_It seemed ironic to her that he was the same man who'd showed no fear and no hesitation hours earlier, when guns were waving and emotions were high and any sane person would have completely crumbled under the weight of all that mess. He was more worried about her now than he'd ever been then… Dave had walked away without question, but Cal seemed hell bent on not letting her do the same thing. _

_It was endearing and infuriating, all at the same time._

_She placed her phone on the edge of the dresser and changed into sweats – oversized and warm and comfortable. Warm and comfortable being two things she didn't know if she'd ever feel again. By the time she was finished, one more message flashed across the screen, simple and direct. "Talk to me, Gill." _

_But she couldn't. Because what was there to say, really? So she ignored it again, and wandered back downstairs._

_Around the time her feet hit the bottom landing, it occurred to her that _he_ was acting as aimless as _she_ felt – random movements and random actions that had no real consequence at all. _Breathing_ because she had to. _Standing_ because she had to. But not really caring at all about what she did or what she said or what she felt, because everything seemed so fucking numb. Heavily, profoundly numb. She still hadn't let herself cry._

_She sank into the corner of the sofa, curled into a tight little ball, and wrapped herself in the soft throw that was draped across the back of it. Seconds later, her phone buzzed again and she sighed in annoyance. Two short words lit up the display, but they spoke volumes. "Gillian? Please." _

_One single tear pricked the corner of her eye, and it made her angry. Irrationally angry, in such a way that she wanted to take it out on the closest target… just to do something. Have control over something when everything else felt like it was spiraling out from under her feet. _

_So she did the only thing she could do in that moment. On sheer impulse alone, she frowned at the screen and threw the phone across the room, watching as it landed on the carpet with a muffled thud. Her attempt had been halfhearted, though, and it landed display-up, not too many feet from where she sat. Seconds later, it buzzed again and she didn't know whether or laugh or to strangle him. "Jesus Christ, Cal!" she shouted into the darkness. "I get it, okay?"_

_And then without warning, just as her breathing returned to normal and the house felt so quiet around her that she wanted to scream, she finally started to cry._

_It was just a few quiet tears at first, ones that she quickly wiped away on the back of her sleeve without much thought at all. Because she was fine, really. She would get through this… she would pick herself up, dust herself off, and move on. And as long as she kept telling herself that she was fine, she would be. Positive affirmation, or some other such psychological bullshit. _

_Didn't matter, really. It was all just another word for lies._

_So she sat there, alone and lying to herself and feeling emotions swirl through her system like a damn tornado. Anger gave way to sadness, which morphed into regret. _

_And the more she self-analyzed, the harder the tears fell… until finally, hours later, they ran dry._

_It was just after midnight when she finally knocked on his door. When it opened, she saw a myriad of emotions flicker across Cal's surprisingly unmasked face, just for a few seconds… and then everything became guarded once again. She didn't have the strength to try and read him, and she didn't have patience enough to care. He stepped backward, just a bit – allowing her enough space to step inside – and then his arms opened, wordlessly._

_She hesitated only for a split second before falling against his chest. Her arms wound around him and she clutched against his shoulders, gripping tightly. She felt Cal smoothing small circles across her back, calming her. When she pulled back, his hands framed her face – his thumbs stroking against the smooth skin of her jaw. And then he spoke, somehow sensing the fear she hadn't yet been able to verbalize. _

"_You are not alone, Gillian."_


	5. Chapter 5

_She wanted to cry; wanted to curl herself up into a little ball and ignore everything until the pounding in her head stopped or she figured out a way to deal with her feelings about Cal – whichever came first. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and lifted her hand from the pages on her desk to push them slightly aside, in Loker's direction. Then she lifted her eyes to his and gave a slightly affirmative nod as he reached for them._

* * *

><p>Loker's mouth was set in a firm line as he lifted the pages from the surface of the desk. He kept each of them face down, flashing a final questioning glance in Gillian's direction, seeking reassurance. She was the boss, after all. His curiosity didn't trump that.<p>

Gillian nodded, letting her gaze shift between both Loker and Torres, silently telling the younger woman that she was included as well. "Go ahead," she said with a tired sigh. "It _is_ personal, but thanks to my little meltdown earlier, I'm afraid he and I both made it your business, too."

Loker easily read the shame she was trying to hide. Anyone would have. "Eight years working with Lightman could make even the most hardened among us snap," he offered. His tone was light – aiming for humor, and hoping to assuage her guilt.

At least to some degree, it worked. She smiled and cast her eyes downward and away, feeling ashamed for finding his comment so appropriate.

Torres chimed in then, standing next to Loker but keeping her eyes on Gillian rather than the papers in his hands. "Let me guess," she said. "Illegal street fighting? Gambling ring? Revenge from a past resident in Lightman's infamous cube? It must be something pretty major to have gotten both of you so worked up."

It was Loker's unexpected gasp that finally drew her attention downward. Gillian hadn't known what to expect, exactly, but this was definitely not it. Both were stone faced and silent, thumbing through each page in turn and sharing pointed glances with each other before finally – moments later – placing them back on the desk, face-up this time, and spread out in a neat little row.

Suddenly self-conscious, Gillian sank back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Part of her was anticipating their judgment… waiting for one (or both) of them to make an offhanded joke about her obvious jealousy, or quip that 'boys will be boys,' or some other such clichéd little idiom that she really didn't want to pretend to tolerate. And so she braced herself, expecting the need to defend her reaction, but not yet certain of how to put her feelings into words.

She and Cal had never had that kind of relationship, after all – the kind that could be put into a neat little package and tied with a bow. Theirs was a messy, complicated, ever-changing yet unbreakably loyal connection. They were bonded, to a fault. And given what had been developing between them as of late, that blonde pictured in Cal's lap felt like the proverbial dagger to the heart of everything between them.

'_No more secrets_,' my ass, she silently fumed.

Loker cleared his throat. "Are you and Lightman…?" He didn't finish the statement, but the implied question was obvious.

"No," she spat – not realizing her tone had been so petty until the reaction to it flashed across his face.

"So that fight and that kiss was all…" he continued, searching for the appropriate wording. "…triggered by these?"

Gillian looked down again, as far away from the photographs as her current position would allow. She did not reply. The action was answer enough.

"Angry _and_ defensive," Torres observed. "Crossed arms, tight frown… not to mention the way your foot keeps pinging off the side of the desk there." She pointed down at Gillian's ankle, drawing attention to the motion. "You definitely don't want to acknowledge these."

"Would you?" she snapped, more forcefully than was intended.

"Under these circumstances I would," Torres answered. She glanced to Loker for support and saw him nodding along in agreement.

"What circumstances?" Gillian asked. She didn't understand the point; she felt like the two of them had some kind of inside knowledge to which she wasn't privy, and it was really starting to annoy her.

Loker cleared his throat, and then took one hesitant half-step toward her. "You got an unmarked package, from an unknown source, containing material of a rather… _delicate_ nature," he explained. "Let's face it, Doctor Foster. You and Lightman have been through some pretty tough stuff together; kidnappings, violence, bombings – your history with him reads like some kind of twisted bucket list. But _this_," he paused, letting his finger tap against the center point of what Gillian felt was the most graphic photo, "… _this_ is much more personal. This isn't about a case," he reasoned. "It's about Lightman himself. It's about what _someone else_ wants you to see in Lightman – the way that _someone else_ wants you to judge him. And if it were me, I'd want to make damn sure I knew who that someone else really was."

"Whoever did this must have known that the quickest way to get to Lightman is through you," Torres insisted.

Gillian mulled that idea for a few seconds, but ultimately scoffed. "Why on earth would you say that?" she said, her tone becoming strained now that her irritation level was creeping back up again.

"Because it's obvious," Torres answered. "At least, it's obvious to anyone who has been around either of you for longer than a day, anyway. You two are connected, intrinsically. It's like you have your own wavelength… a special kind of Lightman Group code that none of the rest of us have ever been allowed to learn."

"Well, that and the fact that the man is crazy about you," Loker quipped, choosing to ignore the overdramatic eye roll that Gillian threw at him. "Seriously, Foster – the guy has it bad. Why do you _really_ think he acted the way he did with Burns?"

Gillian closed her eyes, allowing the memory of Dave and Cal in that warehouse to flash through her mind as clearly as the moment it happened. Cal's voice was confident and controlled. She could still hear him say it. "_In the worst possible way…"_

Several seconds passed before she spoke again. When she did, her voice sounded much weaker than she would have liked. "He's just protective of me, that's all."

_Lie, lie, lie._

Torres was instantly suspicious. "You remembered something, didn't you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and leaning closer to Gillian's chair. "Something significant."

"It's not important," Gillian lied. "It's… in the past."

"Another half truth," Loker countered. "It might be in the past, but you're only fooling yourself by insisting that it's not important."

Gillian sighed and involuntarily balled her hands into fists – she was way past tolerant when it came to being read. If this was even a tenth of what their witnesses felt, then she had a new level of empathy for some of them. "I swear to God, if you two don't stop…"

"The real question here is _why_," Loker said, allowing the empty threat to hang between them, unfinished. "_Why_ would someone want to make Foster angry? More specifically, _why_ would they want to make her angry with _Lightman_, and how did they know that these particular photos would do the job?"

"That just proves that it has to be someone with personal knowledge of your relationship." Torres had a decisive tone to her voice – as if the whole mess was just on the verge of being sorted out. It was driving Gillian completely mad.

All of a sudden, she felt like the third wheel. It was _her_ office, _her_ staff, _her_ private life laid bare before them, and she felt obsolete and unnecessary. Within just a few moments, Loker and Torres already managed to have more insight into the whole debacle than she'd shown – she'd never thought to ask herself any of those questions.

Hindsight told her that she should have. She _should_ have asked all of those and more, before she went shooting off her mouth at Cal and acting like a scorned lover. Which was laughable in itself, she decided. Because she and Cal were about as far from being lovers as two people could possibly be. Or, at least they were before that kiss…

_God damn, that kiss._

Without thinking, she touched her hand to her lips and felt the corners of them tug upward into a crooked smile. She had a few fleeting thoughts about how inappropriate it was to be blushing right now, and how obvious a tell it was that she'd just touched her mouth, but those thoughts ended with Loker's wide grin.

"Would it be completely out of line for me to call attention to that right now?" he asked rhetorically, pointing his finger in the general direction of her face and waving it in an uneven circle. "Or should I just pretend not to notice?"

_Fair enough_. She'd walked right into that one, and she didn't exactly have the right to be angry with them for using Lightman's own science against her, considering that's what they'd been trained to do. That's what _she'd_ helped train them to do. Irony could be a real bitch, sometimes.

Regrouping, Gillian stood up, straightened her posture and schooled her features, and gathered the stack of photos. She passed them around until they each held one, and then she took a deep breath. "I'll get Heidi to pull the security feed from earlier this morning. Maybe we can get a lead through the messenger service that delivered these. Until then, we'll use what we have. Maybe there's a clue in here somewhere," she said.

Loker and Torres smiled at her, nodded in agreement, and turned to walk toward the lab.


	6. Chapter 6

_He'd assumed that she'd been working him because someone else wanted her to do it. That someone else had something to gain from watching him with her – and that they just hadn't expected him to refuse the advances. But she looked at him expectantly, her breathing shallow and rapid, and he had his answer. She didn't remember him, either._

* * *

><p>"Bloody hell," Cal muttered under his breath.<p>

In his anger, he had immediately assumed that this woman could lead him to the tosser who'd sent those photos. He'd wanted names, details… anything that could lead him to the responsible party. And he'd assumed that this woman could provide it. That she was just some buxom blonde pawn and he was someone else's mark. That if he pushed the right buttons, she'd flash fear or regret or some kind of reaction that would at least tell him he was on the right trail.

But nothing. The only emotion he read on her overly made-up face was one he wasn't interested in seeing – genuine, unadulterated longing. The kind that, should he be so inclined, told him that she'd be willing to give up whatever it was his little heart desired without even a moment's hesitation.

_Again with the irony._ The one woman he genuinely wanted would have happily ripped his balls off not even an hour ago, and now this one looked like she was about two seconds away from climbing into his lap and taking matters into her own hands.

Cal sobered suddenly, catching the look in her eye that was a bit of a warning, mixed with something decidedly predatory. She probably intended it to look sultry, but it didn't. It looked practiced and false, and he instantly wondered how many other men had found themselves caught in the crosshairs of it without the better judgment to back away.

He slid as far away from her as the bench would allow, and then – when she made a move to follow him – he stood to walk to the opposite seat, flopping down across from her with a sigh.

She was instantly annoyed, and clearly not the kind of woman who was used to being told 'no.'

"Apologies," he offered, gesturing awkwardly between them to try fill the conversational gap. He didn't have patience enough for pleasantries at the moment.

The woman quirked a suspicious brow at him and did not speak, but at least she no longer looked like she was trying to imagine him naked. In this case, he'd take whatever progress he could get.

"It's fine," she lied. "It's not like I was looking for…"

"Right, right," he interrupted, waving her off with the back of his hand. He wasn't interested in whatever excuse she was about to sell him. Then he cleared his throat, sat up a little bit straighter in the seat, and plowed ahead. "I was actually hoping you might give me a bit of information."

She gave a surprised sneer, and then folded her arms across her chest. The motion caused her breasts to push upward and together, straining so obnoxiously against the fabric of her blouse that he was almost certain she did it on purpose. Blatant, she was. And clearly experienced.

But Cal was undeterred. Well… in all fairness, he did _glance_ in their general direction. For a split second, at best. Because hell – he wouldn't be Cal Lightman if he let that opportunity go to waste. Didn't mean anything, of course. Not with this woman. And his attention had been so short that she hadn't even noticed it at all. He was quite proud of himself for that.

'_See, Gillian? I bloody well meant what I said,'_ his inner monologue bragged. '_I don't want anyone else_.'

"What kind of information are you looking for?" Her tone was curious, yet aloof.

"Just general stuff," he answered. "Pretty boring, actually, but I thought you might be the kind of girl who would notice the… _finer details_ that another person might otherwise miss." He struggled a bit with the word choice – but he had a definite feeling that this place was her regular hunting ground. And he thought her observational skills just might have honed in on a thing or two that were _not_ male, ready, and willing.

_It was worth a shot anyway._

"Such as?" This time her voice was much more relaxed.

"Security measures… cameras… things of that nature. Anything obvious ever catch your eye?"

She looked at Cal as if he'd grown a second head, clearly not expecting _that_ kind of question. And then slowly, he watched as her expression changed. She started to nod and breathe out a knowing 'ah-ha!' type of noise, as if he was some kind of puzzle that had instantly come together. "I get it now," she said, practically wagging her finger in his face as she pointed at him. "Blackmail, isn't it? That's what's going on here. Someone must've caught you with your pants down and now you're out to find the source."

He really didn't like the way she eyed him during the '_pants down_' part of her comment, but he brushed it off. She wasn't too far off the mark, otherwise.

"In a manner of speaking," he finally agreed.

"So who is she? Describe her – maybe I've seen her around here before. For the right price, maybe I can be of some… assistance."

_And now she was picturing him naked again. Fuck if she wasn't completely infuriating._

"Got a mirror?" he snapped, the volume of his voice muted by his gritted teeth.

She looked incredulous. "Me?" she gasped as Cal rolled his eyes. "Not possible," she insisted. A slight blush rose on her cheeks as she eyed him. "I would've remembered you, honey. That accent… it's…"

Cal waved her off again. "Oi! Let's just say that it was really difficult to talk with your tongue shoved down my throat, so I don't imagine you caught very much of my bloody accent."

At least she had the decency to look ashamed – that was something. It was enough to calm him down a bit, anyway. He was in no mood to flirt, play games, or do much of anything at all except find the wanker who'd put him in this position in the first place. Someone had made it their business to intrude upon his personal life, and whoever had done it knew the quickest way to gut him was through Gillian. And that was unacceptable.

Do whatever they wanted to him, but leave Gillian the hell out of it.

"Now let's try this again," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Have you ever noticed anything… _off_ about this place?"

"_Off_, how?"

"Anyone ever get a little too interested in the company you've kept, perhaps? Anyone ever seem to be following you, or leading you toward certain spots that might have cameras in them? Anything like that?"

She did seem to be genuinely trying to think of anything that might fit his criteria. Her eyes shifted up and to the right, and her brows were drawn in concentration. She was quiet for several moments, but finally shook her head and glanced back at his face again. "No, not that I can recall," she said.

Cal ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He closed his eyes and dropped his head backward, letting it thud against the cushion on the back of the booth. This was getting him nowhere. He had nothing to go on but those pictures, and possibly whatever messenger service had delivered them. It wasn't much, but he'd have to try. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing that look in Gillian's eye again. That look that told him he was a liar, and a disappointment, and a right bastard for ever getting her hopes up these past few weeks.

He started to slide out of the bench to leave, but her hand on his arm stopped him cold. She looked suddenly shy. Her posture changed and she sank back into the seat a bit, dropping the whole sex kitten façade that he'd immediately suspected was an act. "You and I," she began, her voice surprisingly shaky as she gestured between them. "Did we…?"

She couldn't verbalize anything more than that, but she didn't need to – he understood the question loud and clear.

"No, we didn't."

She gave a sigh somewhere between relief and disappointment, and it almost made him laugh. _Almost_. And if she hadn't irritated the piss out of him for the last little while, he might have offered her a bit of advice. Might have told her to drop the whole act and try being herself for once… the few glimpses he'd caught of the 'real' her seemed somewhat charming. Instead, he stood to leave and thanked her for her time, knowing that anything else would be misinterpreted as affection, rather than compassion.

He was a few paces away when she called out to him again. "I didn't catch your name?" she tried.

The falseness in her voice was already ratcheting up again, and he could easily picture her staring after him, already on the lookout for someone new. Cal slowed, but didn't turn back. "It's not important, love. You'll never remember it anyway."


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Thank you everyone for the feedback / reviews / words of encouragement. They are all greatly appreciated! **_

_**This is another flashback chapter, which is set immediately following the flashback in chapter 4. Still a few more of these to go, and a lot more chapters! Thanks for reading!**_

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><p>"<em>You are not alone, Gillian."<em>

_The force of his words hit her square in the stomach and for a moment, she thought she might cry again. _

_How did he do it, anyway? How did he manage to take one look at her and not only read every emotion that she felt, but also manage to assuage every doubt and every fear that she'd been too afraid to face by herself? Sometimes it was unnerving to realize how deep their connection ran. It was intrinsic; almost as instinctual as breathing. They just… clicked._

_They stood together in the darkness, just inside his front door. His hair was ruffled and mussed just a bit, but it was endearing. Gave him a rather innocent look… so much different from the appearance he always wore during the daytime. She felt badly for having woken him, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came._

_Cal's arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace, and despite the mixed emotions that were still swirling through her, she felt instantly calmed. Like everything was whole again. Like she could breathe again. She felt it every time he held her… that feeling of safety that she'd always looked for but never found with anyone else. Sometimes it scared the hell out of her._

_During the short drive to his house, she'd obsessed about what to say to him __–__ because it didn't feel right to knock on one man's door in the middle of the night just to cry brokenhearted about the loss of another, even if one of them _was_ her best friend. And so she ran through a hundred excuses in her head, trying to find the wording that would make her sound stronger than she felt… feel braver than she looked. But now that she was in his arms, it felt so silly __–__ all of that pointless obsessing about words. Cal didn't need words to hear what her heart wanted to say._

_Gillian let out a shaky breath against the soft skin of his neck. He felt warm and solid, and the feel of his palms sliding across her shoulders was a welcome distraction from the ache in her heart. She didn't want to need him this much. She didn't want to need anyone this much. She wanted to be strong and able to handle it by herself __–__ that's what she'd done when Alec left, after all. _

_But it was funny how that felt like a completely different concept of '_alone_." After Alec, '_alone'_ meant freedom and possibility __–__ a chance to live her life on her own terms, and in her own time. After Dave, it just meant uncertainty._

_Her muscles tensed then, as she started on a fresh wave of self-doubt. Cal must have felt it, because his arms tightened around her, squeezing just a little bit harder, stroking just a little bit faster. And then he pulled back to study her face. His eyes were soft and compassionate as they met hers. "Nothing wrong with needing someone, darling." _

_His voice was whisper-soft, and she let out a choked little sigh – close to crying, but mostly just amazed that he'd done it again. He knew her so well. Better than anyone else had ever known her… and that scared the hell out of her, too. _

"_C'mon," he said simply, pressing his fingers against the small of her back to prompt her as they padded across the room – him, barefoot and scruffy in his mismatched pajamas, and her, red-faced and sniffling in oversized sweats. _

_She tried to protest, feeling the last tendrils of guilt creep their way back to the surface. "Cal, I'm sorry…"_

_He turned to her, brushing off the last of her insecurities as he smoothed the back of his hand along her jaw. "Sshhh," he insisted. He was close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath fan out across her skin. "No apologies. Just sit with me, okay? Sit with me tonight, and we'll worry about tomorrow when it comes."_

_She nodded mutely, and watched as he settled himself onto one end of the sofa then flicked off the lamp that sat on the table beside him. He pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and reached for her. She took his hand and he smiled, peaceful and content for the first time in hours. Whatever she'd been questioning suddenly seemed unimportant. _

_Still silent, she eased herself next to him and stretched out her legs on the empty cushions. Cal spread the blanket across both of them, and then opened his arm so that she could lean against his chest. _

_Her head nestled into the warm space just below his shoulder and she could hear his heartbeat drumming in her ear, strong and steady. The sound made her smile. It was reassuring, somehow. Gave her faith that maybe he was right… maybe she really wasn't alone. _

"_This okay?" he asked, already certain that it was. _

_His arm was wrapped around her now, and she felt his fingers tracing random patterns on her skin so lightly that he probably wasn't even aware of the movement at all. She snuggled just the slightest bit closer to him and brought her hand to rest on his chest. "Thank you, Cal."_

"_No need, love." He brought his free hand to cover hers, and their fingers twined together without question. Neither of them said another word. Moments later, she heard his breath start to even out with the first whispers of sleep. His embrace held though, even as the rest of his body inevitably relaxed. _

* * *

><p><em>She awoke sometime near dawn, when the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to waft through the windows to greet the day. Cal was quiet, still breathing softly beside her but its rhythm told her he was still fast asleep. They hadn't moved much at all during the short night… save for their hands atop his chest, which had shifted a bit. Instead of entwined fingers, Gillian looked down to find hers fisted in his t-shirt, and his splayed across the smooth skin of her wrist. <em>

_She turned slightly, rolling on her side as much as the position would allow. Not enough to disturb him… just enough so that she could tilt her head up to see his face. Cal gave a tiny frown, as if to protest even that much movement away from him, but beyond that he did not stir._

_His face was peaceful and relaxed, and she smiled at the sight of him… all rumpled and scruffy, with just a trace of stubble on his otherwise smooth shaven skin. He looked quite different than the Cal she saw during the daytime – quite different than the Cal he showed to the rest of the world. He looked unguarded and comfortable. And undeniably handsome._

_Gillian felt a shiver then. Just a tiny little flicker of _something_ she was still afraid to name. To name it would make it real, and neither of them was ready for that. _

_It was dangerous… those feelings she had for Cal. The feelings she'd thought were long buried – or at least, packed away so securely that she'd play hell ever getting them to the surface again. Feelings that were so far over the line that it made her feel like a complete idiot for ever suggesting it in the first place. And it made her wonder who the line was really for, anyway? _

_In any case, it seemed pointless now._

_And then without even realizing she'd done it, she turned the slightest bit more, so that she could stretch up closer to his face. They were practically chest to chest now, and she was waiting for the little voice in her head to start warning her – to start telling her to back off and turn away. But it did not speak._

_And so she took a deep breath, leaned in the last few inches, and gently pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth._

_When she pulled away a second later, Cal smiled but did not wake._

_Carefully, Gillian maneuvered back to her original position – tucking her head below his shoulder once again, and letting the steady sound of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep._


	8. Chapter 8

A lack of new cases at the Lightman Group usually meant a very stressful time for Gillian Foster. Because cases meant income, and income meant stability, and those were two things that were definitely lacking around the office as of late. Her desk was now a mess of financial statements, tax reports, and invoices – at least, in the center surface. Off to the side, one photo of Cal and that woman still looked up at her tauntingly. She still had the urge to shred it, but it was weakening bit by bit.

She was expecting information about that messenger service any minute now. Heidi pulled the footage just as Gillian asked – and mercifully refrained from asking any questions or making any smart remarks about what happened with Cal. The woman was a blessing; Gillian didn't think she could handle another round of interrogation.

Having found nothing obvious in the footage herself, she'd farmed out the detective work to Loker, who was busy running it through every kind of double check system and audio scanning software program at their disposal. She had a fleeting thought that it was all completely inappropriate. That she ought to be ashamed of herself for expecting anyone else to help her unravel the whole mess – and do it all on company time, no less – but Loker was right. This was all much more personal than their standard case… whoever was running this little game had inside knowledge about her, Cal, and God knows who else among them. Maybe she was reaching, but she had to admit, that kind of personal knowledge could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.

Yes, she was definitely reaching. Now she felt angry and guilty.

Doing her best to shake it off, Gillian flexed her fingers and blinked her eyes and turned her attention back to the piles of paper in front of her. Property taxes, insurance forms, payroll reports, legal contracts, credit agreements… the stacks were mountainous and she groaned at the sight of them. Hindsight told her it was a bad idea to jump into all those records, since she was already stressed and her head was already pounding. But she'd stupidly thought they might serve as a temporary distraction from everything else that was causing so much stress. _Rock, hard place…_

A few minutes later, Gillian frowned and slapped her pen down on the desktop. The mother of all migraines was currently pounding its way through her skull, and quite frankly she was starting to feel sick. She had a fleeting thought that with enough rationalization, she really could blame Cal for all of this… the headache, their fight, their pitiful bank account balances and the piles of work spread out in front of her. Part of her wanted to. The other part kept wondering how the hell she'd reached a point when her entire life revolved around him. Even her subconscious thoughts.

She could almost see her precious little line mocking her. _'Told you so, Gillian. Told you not to let yourself get personally involved.'_

The mere idea of a 'line' seemed absurd to her now. It was one of those things that sounded great on paper, but was damn near impossible to put into action. Because the truth was, Cal had always been personally involved. Even beyond the line of friendship… there had always been more between them. She'd read it on his face, seen it in his eyes – even felt it in his embrace. He cared. He cared about _her_, as deeply as she'd ever seen him care about anyone. She was the one who'd been holding back.

"_If I can't have you, then I don't want anyone else."_

Gillian sighed and brought her hands to her temples, trying to massage away the pain. She didn't know who she was angrier with – Cal, for backing her into a corner, or herself, for causing that broken look in his eyes that he tried to hide as he turned away from her.

"_Truth or happiness, never both."_

She suddenly had a much greater appreciation for those words.

* * *

><p>"Hate to tell you this, Foster, but the messenger service is a dead end." Loker didn't bother knocking – he just barreled through the doorway and hit her with the bad news, full force.<p>

At the moment he did so, Gillian was rifling through the contents of her handbag, which she had dumped into the center of her desk… after clearing away most of the stacks of paperwork, of course. She'd just been staring at it, anyway – not accomplishing any real work. She'd read one of the forms at least three times and couldn't remember a single word of it. Damn headache made it almost impossible to think, let alone be productive. And she just _knew_ there was a bottle of aspirin buried somewhere in all the mess.

She paused mid-search and looked up at Loker, sensing that he was staring at her. A slight narrowing of her eyes was the only reply she gave.

"Bad time?" he asked, smiling sympathetically.

_Talk about an understatement_. Gillian just groaned. She was disappointed about the lack of leads with the video footage, but not really surprised, so she didn't comment on it. She deflected, instead. "I'd kill for a couple of aspirin right about now," she dead-panned, and then resumed digging through the pile.

Loker gave a little snort, as if he was amused by her behavior, and then plopped himself down across from her. "Guess it's back to square one then," he offered, placing a plain colored file folder on the edge of her desk.

She knew the other two photographs were in that folder, and she had a fleeting thought that she should probably thank him for keeping it discreet. Then she had another fleeting thought that it was laughable to even _want_ to keep it discreet, since she and Cal had practically given the entire office the live-action version of the same scene, anyway.

When Gillian only responded with a muffled and somewhat distracted sounding "_uh-huh_," he cleared his throat nervously and spoke again. "Maybe there's something we missed on those photos – something that wouldn't be obvious right away," he suggested. "Just because Torres and I couldn't find anything, that doesn't mean you won't."

Gillian nodded politely, but was barely listening. She just held her bag up to the side of the desk, propped it up with her knee and did a clean sweep of the contents, knocking it all back inside in one fluid motion. When everything landed, she heard a distinctive rattling noise, plunged her hand into one of the pockets, and finally found it. One tiny little bottle of salvation.

"Thank God," she muttered under her breath, flicking the lid open and quickly fishing out two small tablets. She downed them both without water, gave a quick grimace as she swallowed, and then relaxed backward into her chair to let the medicine go to work.

She'd just closed her eyes when the sound of Loker's chuckle made them snap open again. Her brows narrowed – he looked smug and self-satisfied, and she was definitely suspicious.

"Care to share?" she quipped, clearly annoyed.

With those three words, she heard even more laughter. _What the hell was so damn funny, anyway?_

Loker didn't answer right away, he just kept on laughing. He looked absurd, and she really, really wanted to smack him.

Under the heat of her glare, his breathing finally started to regulate and the laughter died away. "You see what's happening here, don't you?" he offered, grinning at her.

No, she didn't, and he was being completely insufferable. She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. "Alright fine, I'll bite. What's happening here?" she asked. Exasperation dripped from her tone of voice, but he didn't seem to care

"You're turning into him."

Her eyes narrowed further. "I'm turning into whom, exactly?"

"Lightman. You're acting just like him…you're irritable and brooding and a little bit erratic."

She frowned slightly, unimpressed by the comparison, but she didn't interrupt him.

"Not that I blame you, of course," he clarified. "You have every reason to be upset. But it _is_ kind of funny, when you think about it. A little bit of role reversal, you know?"

Gillian immediately scoffed and pursed her lips to blow a raspberry at him, but she caught herself at the last second. Okay, fine… _maybe_ he did have a point. She supposed that _did_ seem like something Cal would've done. _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ But the stubborn side of her refused to concede the argument – which, of course, was _also_ something Cal would've done. She chose to disagree, instead. "That's ridiculous."

"Not really," he countered. "But it's fine. So long as you don't start randomly insulting me every chance you get, the secret's safe with me."

Gillian just blinked at him for several beats, and then slowly she felt herself begin to smile. It was small at first, just an insignificant little tugging at the corner of her lip that sort of annoyed her. She tried to fight it down, because she should definitely _not_ be smiling – not after that giant fight with Cal, and not after that embarrassing scene in front of everyone else.

But then she got a mental picture of herself adopting some of Cal's behavior – the accent, the walk, the posture… and suddenly it _was_ kind of funny. And then she laughed, loud and long. She laughed at the absurdity of the entire situation, and the absurdity of the way she'd handled it. Not her finest few hours, of course, but that was okay. Everyone was entitled to a little breakdown now and then, even Gillian Foster. Now she'd dust herself off and move ahead, like always.

When they both settled down, Loker was the first to speak. "I know it's not my business, but… where do you suppose he is, anyway?" he asked.

Gillian's face fell just a bit. To anyone else it would have been indiscernible, but he saw it easily. Regret, mixed with just the slightest hint of shame. "Probably hiding from me," she answered with a sigh.

Now it was Loker's turn to scoff. "I've never seen Lightman hide from anything," he insisted. "And he's definitely not the type of man to run away from a problem."

Gillian shrugged, uncertain. "Yeah, well… I've never pushed him this far before, either."

Knowing there was nothing else he could say to that, Loker flashed another sympathetic expression and then stood to pass the file folder across the desk toward her. "I'll just leave this with you then?" he asked, already certain of what the answer would be.

Gillian nodded, gave a small smile, and took the folder from his outstretched hand. "Thanks," she answered. "I'll let you know if I find anything."

A moment later, he was gone. She took a deep breath, refocused her energy, and turned back to the photos. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was something they'd missed… something small, barely noticeable. It was definitely worth another look.

She spread the images in front of her, fighting down the taste of bile that threatened to rise from her throat at the sight of them. She had to try and push past her gut reaction. She had to try not to see _Cal's_ face and _Cal's_ hands… but rather, break the image down bit by bit and look for an anomaly. Something… _off_. Even by a slight bit.

She started with the blonde – the heavy makeup, the aggressive body language, even the jewelry on her fingers as she clutched at Cal's frame. Gillian studied it all. This woman was definitely his type; young and beautiful and willing. And just as she started to feel the heat of her anger creeping back in again, she saw it. A tiny, insignificant little detail she hadn't seen before. It was in the eyes.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded with dilating pupils – exactly the reaction she'd expected to find. But when Gillian's focus shifted to Cal, his eyes were wide open and not dilated at all. She saw surprise, mostly… but not arousal. _Oh shit._

Within seconds, her attention shifted to their hands. The woman was obviously gripping him, pulling his shoulders toward her own body, just as one would expect. But Cal's hands were tense and his fingers were hyper-extended, almost in a pushing motion rather than an embrace. _Yes_, one hand did rest dangerously high on her thigh – but considering this woman was practically sitting in his lap, it didn't leave him with a whole lot of options as to where else to put them.

Maybe he _was_ just trying to force her away, not coax her closer. It was definitely possible.

That little voice in the back of Gillian's head started up again, chattering on and on that she was a complete idiot. That she should have just listened to Cal when he tried to explain what happened.

A beat later, when she flipped the pages face-down to inspect the paper itself, she found something else that caught her attention. Something that made her feel like the biggest jackass in the entire DC area. It was a tiny little watermark in the bottom right corner on one page. So very small that most people probably would have missed it. But there it was, practically screaming at her now that she'd finally seen it. Three simple letters, which told her everything she needed to know.

"_You wouldn't know the truth of this if it bit you in the arse."_

Gillian felt sick. All those horrible things she'd said to Cal… all of it was a mistake. Every accusation, every shouted word, every single nasty thought she'd had about him in the last few hours seemed to ball itself up inside her until the weight of it made her want to cry again. And then it made her angry… completely, overwhelmingly angry, to the point that she was shaking from the severity of it.

She had the urge to hit something, to hurt something – it was totally involuntary, and she knew it was totally irresponsible. Because that was _not_ how she needed this whole thing to play out. It wouldn't work that way, not with this adversary. That was exactly what he wanted, and come hell or high water, Gillian Foster was absolutely not going to give him what he wanted.


	9. Chapter 9

_She had the urge to hit something, to hurt something __–__ it was totally involuntary, and she knew it was totally irresponsible. Because that was not how she needed this whole thing to play out. It wouldn't work that way, not with this adversary. That was exactly what he wanted, and come hell or high water, Gillian Foster was absolutely not going to give him what he wanted._

* * *

><p>Gillian stared down at the small marking in front of her, completely fixated and absolutely livid – she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt such an out of control level of anger. And that included all the times that Cal had driven her to the edge of sanity and back during the better part of the last decade. No, this was a new level of fury; the kind that she'd seen in the faces of countless others over the years, but never once experienced for herself. Raw, powerful, <em>irrational<em> emotion that made her want to drive across town and tear that smug asshole down, inch by inch.

Her fists were clenched so tightly that the muscles in her forearms began to tremble, and her fingernails were actually cutting little gauges into her palms. She ignored the stinging sensation it caused until she finally looked down to find a tiny spot of blood in the middle of her right hand.

_Shit_.

First and foremost, she knew she had to calm down. This guy wanted her to come unhinged. He wanted her to lash out – to act before she spoke, despite the consequences. Obviously, he wanted her to lash out at Cal, and Cal alone. He probably had no idea she'd already figured out his identity. That watermark was just an oversight on his part. Lucky for Gillian, she'd had the patience to look, and the good sense to listen to Loker when he suggested it.

She dabbed a tissue against her palm, took a deep breath, and tried to take her own advice. Calm down. Her eyes fell closed for a second as her pulse began to slow down. When she opened them a moment later, her first instinct was to call Cal. Because regardless of how they'd left things, and regardless of how far away from her he'd planned to run, she was absolutely positive that they would handle this together. And after the dust settled, they'd try behaving like grown ups for a change and see where they stood with each other.

It was a plan, at least. A starting point. The details would just have to fall into place later.

Gillian lifted her bag onto the desk and began to dig through the mess she'd made inside it, hunting for her cell phone. She had no idea what to say, exactly, but she definitely owed Cal an apology. A big one. For those awful things she'd shouted at him, for not trusting him in the first place… and for walking away each time he tried to explain himself.

She'd apologize first, and then ask him to come back so they could talk face to face. But she absolutely would _not_ tell him about that watermark over the phone – because if her gut reaction had been severe anger, then Cal's would be complete and total wrath. The kind that would end with his bruised fist and someone else's broken nose, if not worse.

She knew they had to plan their next move very carefully. Because Loker and Torres were both right – if this guy had already stooped so low as to send provocative photographs to their workplace through an anonymous messenger, then what was to stop him from going further? Staking out their houses, or their office, or even their employees just to prove some twisted point?

And with that thought, Gillian felt a shiver run through her. Something had always seemed a bit… _off_… about this guy, but she'd never been able to put her finger on what it was, exactly. Just some nameless, generic feeling of uneasiness, but never to the point that she'd gone out of her way to avoid him.

Her thoughts drifted back through the previous few weeks, and she remembered at least a handful of times that she'd met this man in passing – always in a crowded public setting and always briefly. The same kind of random, chance encounters people have every single day and never give a second thought to the 'why' of it all. Things like bumping into each other in a crowded store or on a crowded sidewalk. Unimportant, ordinary events.

At least, they'd seemed that way to Gillian at the time. Now with the benefit of hindsight kicking in, it all felt deliberately planned… like a cruel con.

She felt goose bumps running up and down her arms, felt a heavy pang of tension in the pit of her stomach as everything just _clicked_. All of a sudden, she knew _exactly_ what point he was trying to make. She knew _exactly_ what his motive was. And it made her sick to realize that if she'd just listened to Cal when he tried to warn her weeks ago, then maybe none of this would have even started in the first place.

* * *

><p>Gillian tucked her phone between her shoulder and her ear and frowned as she heard it click over to Cal's voice mail again. She'd made at least a dozen calls and sent a handful of texts so far, but nothing. No answer, no reply… not a word from him since he walked away from her hours earlier. It was totally unlike him to avoid her completely, and she was really starting to worry.<p>

And so by the time her thirteenth call still went unanswered, she'd begun to pace a pathway around her office, out into the hallway, and halfway to Heidi's desk. Nervous energy. She still felt the need to _do_ something. Sitting around waiting for Cal just made her feel like she was spinning her wheels.

A few minutes later, during her third loop through the hallway, she finally heard it – the unmistakable (yet slightly muffled) voice of Johnny Rotten singing somewhere in Cal's office. She rolled her eyes and sighed. Turns out he wasn't avoiding her at all; he'd just left his phone behind.

She followed sound of the ringtone into his office and then finally spotted the cell on his desk, forgotten among a few short stacks of files. As soon as she disconnected the call, the phone began a series of incessant, shrill little beeps designed to alert someone of the missed messages. She pressed one button, just to make the noise go away, and then Cal's wallpaper photo became visible.

The tiny image on his screen took her by surprise. There they stood, arm in arm at the annual Lightman Group Christmas party, the day Cal returned from Afghanistan. It was a candid shot – they stood inches apart, smiling and laughing and looking decidedly… _together_. Cal's arm was wrapped around her waist, and her hand rested against his chest as she leaned into him slightly. And there was no denying the emotion that shone from his face as he stared into hers.

Gillian felt weak. Physically and emotionally weak. She felt a thousand butterflies in her stomach, and her pulse started to race again. Part surprise, part guilt, she guessed. She trailed shaky fingertips over the image and then sank into Cal's chair , never taking her eyes off the small screen.

It felt odd to be in there without him. It felt intrusive, somehow, to be sitting in his office surrounded by his things and his presence and – though she felt self-conscious to have noticed it in the first place – his _scent_, without him physically there with her.

Jesus, his scent. Where the hell had that come from? It's not like she ran around sniffing the man all the time, but it was definitely there. _Spicy, sweet… definitely him_. God damned pheromones. Gillian sighed and placed the phone back on his desktop, and then leaned further back into his chair. She closed her eyes and felt herself begin to relax – begin to forget all the stress and chaos and total bullshit that had been dumped into their laps in the last few hours.

A moment later, that nagging little voice in the back of her head piped up again. This time, instead of screaming at her that she was behaving like a jealous lunatic, the little voice was soothing and compassionate. And its message was clear… wait for Cal, apologize, and move forward. _Together_.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you for all the feedback, reviews, and support. You all are wonderful - really know how to make a girl feel great!**_

_**Another note: This is also a flashback; I wanted to give Cal's perspective a bit more. The first half takes place after "Headlock," and the second half ties in with chapter 4 when Cal is texting Gillian after she leaves the hospital. It all makes sense in my head, so I hope I haven't jumbled it up too badly on paper. :)**_

_**And yes, I borrowed some dialogue from "Headlock."**_

_**Thanks again everyone for reading and sticking with me! ~Jennifer**_

* * *

><p><em>Cal had tried to be okay with everything at first. Really and truly, he wanted to be okay with it. Because he wanted Gillian to be happy… she deserved that. Happiness. And that night when he saw her with Burns, and the two of them were looking so very decidedly… <em>together_, it struck him that the entire matter was out of his hands. He had no choice in any of it._

_Dave's hand in the small of her back, protective and guiding. The way Gillian smiled when she looked at him, delighted and peaceful. It was all her choice – Gillian _chose_ to be with Dave. She'd chosen _not_ to be with Cal Lightman. And yes, he bloody well knew that he could have spoken up and told her all of his dirty little secrets – about how he loved her, how he wanted her, how she was his ideal woman – but to what end?_

"Sorry 'bout all the illegal underground fighting, about nearly getting all of us killed God knows how many times over the years, Gill. Sorry 'bout that whole bit in Vegas, and for Clara and Zoe and all the others. Behaved like a total plonker, I did. 'S'pose you could just sweep all that under the rug, blow off Captain America there, and come home with me instead?"

_Jesus, it even sounded pathetic in his own head. To say it aloud would have been idiotic._

_And so, he didn't. He played his little games instead – little tongue in cheek bits of wit that he knew Gillian could see right through._

"Burns. Dave Burns, yeah? Did I get that right, or did I make a mistake? 'Cause I'm, you know, I'm terrible with names. I'm terrible with names."

_Intimidation… antagonizing… a veritable pissing contest. He might as well have whipped it out and danced in a circle around her, marking his territory._

"He's a good man, Cal. That's all you need to know."

_And that, more than anything else, is what had finally done it. What had finally triggered the fear. Real, tangible fear that this might actually be it – the way he'd finally lose her, and lose his chance at finding happiness with her as anything other than her best friend._

_He was going to lose her to Dave Burns, a good man who'd sent her flowers and made her smile and got to hold her. A man who was the polar opposite of everything Cal had ever been._

_Black and white, oil and water… Lightman and Burns. _

_Later that night, hours after Gillian had left and Cal was sitting alone, halfway through his first drink, hindsight would tell him that he ought to be ashamed. But by then, he'd been too depressed to care._

* * *

><p>"Gillian? Please."<p>

_It was the fourth text message he'd sent her since she left the hospital. He was getting desperate now. Desperate to help her, to hear her, to hold her… anything. Cal Lightman was a man of action, and when Gillian Foster hurt, he wanted to fix it. Except this time, he couldn't and it was eating away at him, second by second._

_Five minutes later, he sent another message. "Going out for some air. Back soon. Door's always open, love. Anytime."_

_He needed to move; he could not sit around there all night, waiting for the sound of a knock on his front door that might never come._

_He backed the car out of his driveway with no real direction in mind… maybe grab a drink, maybe grab some food, maybe drive past Gillian's house to see if she was even there. Option three pulled at him hard – hard enough that he'd made it almost all the way to her street before the fear kicked in and made him turn the wheel in the opposite direction. Best to let her come to him, he rationalized. Give her some space. Give her some air._

_That fear had driven him all the way to that bar. Oh sure, he could sugarcoat it just to try and make himself feel better – try to convince himself that he was confused, or that he was waiting for the right time, or that he didn't want to rush into anything. He could have used Burns as an absentee scapegoat, rationalizing that Gillian wasn't the kind of woman who jumped out of one man's bed and right into another. But once he cut the bullshit, what it all boiled down to was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of letting her down… fear that it wouldn't be able to live up to the fantasy that _being able_ to love Gillian had become._

_Not that he wanted to rush anything, of course. He wouldn't have been crazy enough to lay out all his feelings just hours after Burns walked away – literally without even looking back to see what he was losing. But she would've seen them. At least some of them. He would have held her, and stroked her hair, and let her cry on his shoulder if need be, and he just knew that something would slip through the cracks. A look… a touch… something. And Gillian would know._

_They weren't ready for that yet._

_He wasn't ready for that yet. Someday, hopefully. But not yet._

_So he pulled into the lot, killed the engine, and just sat there in the darkness. He sighed and sank back against the headrest, slouching and moping as he fished his phone from his pocket. He was so tempted to call her… but he didn't. He just stared at the screen, hoping she'd reply. It was pathetic, really. A grown man depressed and alone in the parking lot of a bar, just waiting for a phone call. It was a feeling that he inherently disliked._

_An hour later, he started the car and pulled back onto the highway that would lead him home. He'd never even made it through the front door of that bar. Gillian's message came just as he pulled back into his driveway. It was only four short words, but he was grateful to read them. "Cal? Are you home?"_

_And then he smiled – really, truly smiled for the first time in ages. His reply came quickly. "Yes, love. I'm here."_

* * *

><p><em>There was no way Cal could have known what would happen just days later, the next time he pulled into the parking lot of that same bar. He wouldn't see the car parked across the street – the one that just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Not following him, of course. Not tracking him. Just lucky enough to catch him there, unaware and distracted and still dealing with the same oppressing fear.<em>

_There was no way Cal could have known someone was watching him in the shadows. That someone was taking advantage of his circumstances in such a way as to manipulate them. He couldn't have known anyone was watching what happened with that drunken blonde in that darkened corner… that someone would record it all in black and white and try to use it against him._

_There was no way Cal could have known that a day that had started out with such promise – bumping into Gillian at that café, talking and laughing with her for hours – would have ended with the potential to destroy everything. If he had known – if he had even suspected, then he would've just driven away again._

_He would've driven right to Gillian's door and told her everything – every secret he'd kept and every promise she deserved to hear. Everything he'd been afraid to say during the night they spent curled up on his couch and the day they spent walking hand in hand through the streets of DC. But he didn't._

_He didn't even see it coming._


	11. Chapter 11

The mid-afternoon sun was bright, and Cal visibly winced when he exited the bar. He was brooding, and the pleasant weather was just one more thing that was managing to piss him off. Grey skies would have been much better. Clouds and drizzle and thunder – angry weather to match his angry attitude.

He fished his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and practically stomped back to his car. He felt like a failure… like a total, bloody idiot for thinking he could solve this mess by himself. He'd walked out on Gillian and spent the last hour with the world's most annoying prostitute, all for nothing. No answers, no clues, no resolution. And he'd been kicking his own ass all day with the realization that none of it would have happened in the first place if he'd just gone to Gillian that night, instead of to that stupid bar. If he'd just taken the risk of telling her how he felt – or hell, even a _tenth_ of how he felt, he would have been with her, content and comfortable, rather than with that desperate blonde on a dusty old barstool.

He ought to know better than anyone that liquid courage never solved anything. That yes, it might numb everything for a while, but in the end it was nothing more than a temporary fix. Eventually, everyone had to man up and face their fears, head on. And so that was why he found himself headed back to the Lightman Group lot, cursing his luck and his circumstances and his bloody bruised knuckles, which still hurt like hell from where he'd punched the steering wheel a few hours earlier.

To hell with the fear, he decided. The fear had controlled him for far too long. Now it was time to face the whole mess – clean it up, pack away the baggage, and do whatever was necessary to move forward. He'd faced down murderers, rapists, and terrorists without missing a beat, and there was no justifiable reason at all why he couldn't go back and face his best friend.

* * *

><p>Cal pulled back into the same space he'd vacated earlier. Gillian's car was still there, so it was safe to assume she'd either be hiding out in her office trying to avoid him, or stalking the halls looking to pounce the minute he walked back through the door. And quite frankly, he didn't know which option he'd rather face… her anger, or her resentment. Both of them sounded completely awful. But forced to choose between them, he decided anger seemed like the lesser evil. At least he had more experience dealing with that one.<p>

He slammed the car door yet again – not as hard this time, but still hard enough to make his hand ache in protest – took a deep breath, and headed for the lobby. As soon as he strode through the front door, he started scanning the area for any sign of Gillian. He saw Heidi, sitting at the front desk and doing her damndest not to react to his presence, but no one else. Not a single intern, protégé, or business partner anywhere else in sight.

Cal frowned. That was definitely weird; the office was _never_ quiet. It made him wonder if the proverbial 'other shoe' was poised somewhere above him, just waiting to drop.

Deciding to shrug it off in favor of a 'business first, chaos later' attitude, he trudged over to Heidi and announced himself with one short word. "Messages?"

Short, simple, and full of deflection. It was pathetic and somewhat childish, but he was just trying to buy himself some time to figure out how to face Gillian.

Heidi shook her head with an emphatic '_no_,' and then gave a stuttered sounding reply. "There were no calls, but Doctor Foster…"

He'd already started to walk away before she could finish speaking. No matter. He could finish the sentence himself. _Doctor Foster… is ready to kill you… has decided you're a complete bastard… has handed in her resignation and cleared out her office_. The specifics didn't much matter anymore. It all boiled down to one thing: that horrible, resentful look in her eyes that had been there in full force earlier. The one that _he_ caused. It made him want to crawl right through the floor.

Cal stuffed his emotions down, gave a sort of muffled growl under his breath in parting, and then turned the corner to his office. He was still scanning the halls for any sign her, but there was nothing. Not a single person in sight – not even a ringing phone anywhere in the background. No noise of any kind, save for his heavy footsteps pinging off the hard floors. The paranoid part of his brain immediately decided that everyone must've sided with her, and they were all just avoiding him like the plague. Not that he could blame them, really.

_Jesus. Self-pity, suspicion, and cowardice. He was even starting to annoy himself. _So much for facing his fears; at this rate, he was going to drive himself completely bonkers within the next few minutes.

He arrived outside his office door to find it closed – which was odd, because he definitely remembered leaving it open that morning. He almost always left it open. No one ever bothered knocking anyway, so there wasn't much point of a closed door policy. Shrugging it off, he twisted the handle and strode inside.

The last thing he expected to find was Gillian waiting there, silently seated on the end of his sofa. Her head snapped up as the door opened, and he caught her wide-eyed and staring at him with the oddest expression on her face. Remorse… regret… shame. But no anger. Cal had to do a double take just to make sure he'd seen it all correctly.

Hindsight kicked in then, and he realized Heidi's intended message had been '_Doctor Foster is waiting in your office_.' Which was also why the door had been closed… she wanted privacy. Everything made perfect sense now, and it struck him as odd that a man who made his living observing the behavior of others had managed to miss all of that. He felt like everyone else was two pages ahead of him and he was struggling to catch up.

Before he'd made it one step past the threshold, Gillian was on her feet. She eyed him nervously, fidgeting with one fingernail before twisting both hands together and letting them fall in front of her, interlaced and tense.

Now he _really_ felt like a bastard. She was tense and nervous and shameful, and all of those were because of him. His subconscious was screaming at him that he needed to say something, to do something – that he needed to fix things between them, or at least bloody well try, because he absolutely could not take one more second of that look on her face.

There were a few very awkward beats between them when they just watched one another. It was obvious that neither of them wanted to be the first to break the silence, but that they both somehow felt a pull to speak. That they both _wanted_ to fix it, but neither knew how. Cal was the first to take the chance. "Gillian, I owe you an apology," he began. His voice came out softer than he'd intended, but he was proud of himself anyway. It was heartfelt and simple, and probably as good a place as any to start.

* * *

><p>Gillian's heartbeat was thundering in her ears, and for a moment that noise was all she could hear. Loud and rhythmic and horribly distracting. Cal stood in front of her, his face lined with the same worry and tension that she knew still flashed prominently across her own, and he looked so damned defeated that it made her want to cry.<p>

Cal Lightman rarely looked defeated. In all the years she'd known him, she'd seen that expression only a handful of times. And now there it was again, practically screaming at her and making her feel like a giant jackass for not listening to him earlier when he'd tried to explain. Now there were so many things she wanted to say to him that she didn't even know where to start.

A thousand questions and a thousand comments danced on the tip of her tongue, all vying for the same attention, but she chose to ignore them all. They could wait – they _would_ wait. Answers and explanations could come later. First, _she_ owed _him_ an apology. Not the other way around.

Gillian took two steps forward, until she was close enough to touch him and she could hear the change in his breathing shift from panicked and fearful, to cautious and guarded. Cal's eyes had grown almost comically wide now, and even though he had no idea what was about to happen, he was obviously expecting the worst.

Under different circumstances she might've laughed. But she didn't. She didn't laugh, didn't speak – barely even blinked. She held his gaze for a few painfully silent seconds, until something finally shook her into action and she began to move. She looked down as she took his hand and wordlessly clasped it between both of hers. She watched her own fingers stroking against his smooth skin, surprised to note that they didn't tremble at all.

When she glanced up again, the look in his eyes was almost enough to take her breath away. Confusion laced with intense vulnerability… he still hadn't moved, hadn't spoken beyond the short, unnecessary apology, and all she wanted to do was soothe him. So she dropped one hand away from his and lifted it to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm.

"That's my line, Cal," she said softly. It was all she could manage.

She felt him lean into her touch for a brief second before righting himself and looking at her with narrowed eyes. He didn't understand.

Gillian cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm the one who owes you an apology, not the other way around. I screwed up. I behaved like a total jackass, and I'm sorry. For the things I said, for the way I said them, and for not listening when you tried to explain. You didn't deserve that."

Cal blinked and stared but was otherwise silent, save for the shuffling sound of his footsteps as he finally stepped into the office far enough to close the door behind him. When he faced her again, Gillian could almost hear the tension leaving his body.

His posture changed – he pulled himself fully upright, tall and proud as he studied her. Weighing… judging… arguing with himself over all the other things he wanted to tell her. All the other things he knew he _needed_ to tell her.

He finally settled on a very quiet, still somewhat hesitant sounding, "Neither did you."

Gillian wasn't sure which one of them smiled first. It was probably simultaneous. But once they did, his broken mask began to fall, piece by piece. The tight frown relaxed and his lips curled into a small smile. He looked like Cal again – handsome and whole. She turned to lead him further into the office. Which was probably silly, being that it was _his_ office, not _hers_. It was _his_ space to own, not _hers_. But she turned on her heel and led him anyway, hand in hand until they reached his sofa. She was about to sit when she felt him hesitating behind her.

"Gill," he said quietly. That was all – just her name.

She turned again, so that they stood face to face. And then without warning, he pulled her into a tight hug. One arm wound around her waist and the other around her shoulders, tightly clutching and undeniably strong. Unlike the last time, his hands did not wander across her skin or clutch at her hair. He simply held her body against his own in a comforting embrace, designed to tell her everything that he couldn't yet find the words to express.

_I'm sorry, too. I don't want to lose you. Where do we go from here? _

Moments later, when they finally pulled apart and settled side by side on the sofa, Gillian knew she had to tell him. About the watermark… about everything. He must have sensed that something was coming – must have felt her tensing up beside him, just trying to work out the details of _how_ she would say it. Because before she could even speak the first word, Cal beat her to it. As if he was trying to fill the heavy silence so she wouldn't have to.

"You can tell me, you know," he said. He squeezed her hand and then gestured toward her forehead.

"Whatever's going on up there, you can tell me."

She studied him – his face, his expression, the way his body was positioned next to hers. All of him.

He was still holding her hand, looking at her with the strangest mix of apprehension and trust – knowing full well that whatever she was about to say was as much of a game changer as anything they'd shouted in that hallway, but he was doing his damndest to have enough faith in her to sit still and listen.

"Not much point in shyness now," he prompted, because she still hadn't managed a single word. "We pretty much blew that right out of the water with that kiss, yeah?"

_Ah, the kiss._ The proverbial pink elephant was now dancing between them, and Gillian blushed. As soon as she did, Cal's fingers squeezed hers again and he smiled – that charming, disarming smile that always managed to weaken her resolve. Handsome and persuasive, he was. Definitely an effective combination.

Gillian unconsciously turned her palm beneath his, letting their fingers link together. "Truth?" she asked. And it struck her then, how many of their conversations began that way – with one of them testing the waters before jumping all the way in. Not wanting to hurt each other more than necessary.

Cal's eyes were kind when he answered. "Always truth, Gill. You know that."

She nodded mutely, because _of course_ she knew that. It just always sounded so much easier when Cal said it.

She let out one long, shaky breath and shifted her body closer to his – just an inch or so, probably, but it felt like more. Her eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again she knew his expression was an exact match of her own. Resolve… regret… acceptance.

_Too much wasted time. Too many missteps along the way._

She didn't want to waste any more. "You were right, Cal," she insisted. Her hand squeezed his just the slightest bit harder, and suddenly the words couldn't come out fast enough. "You were right about everything. You tried to warn me about him, and I wouldn't listen, and now…"

Cal froze. His breathing, his body language – all of it froze for a split second, as he replayed her words. '_You tried to warn me about him_.' That part spoke volumes – told him everything he needed to know.

He knew Gillian was still talking… still rambling about how she should have listened to him, and how everything was all her fault. But he wasn't paying attention now. He was angry – powerfully, irrationally angry, to the point that he began to fantasize about putting his already bruised fist right through that wanker's nose.

The touch of Gillian's hand against his arm finally jarred him into action and he stood, fists clenched and breathing heavily and clearly at the end of his self-control. She stared up at him, wide-eyed and silent, without a clue as to what to say next.

"I need to be very certain that I understand you correctly, Gillian," he said. He spoke through gritted teeth, in a voice that was undeniably strained.

She nodded and quickly crossed the room to retrieve the file folder from his desk, where she'd placed it earlier. All three photographs were still inside. Wordlessly, she flipped to the one bearing the tiny grey initials in the bottom corner. _Undeniable proof_. That's what he needed.

"Here," she insisted, placing the page face-down and pointing to the offending letters. "I should have listened to you weeks ago," she insisted.

Cal's eyes were locked with hers as he approached. The shame he read on her face only served to fuel his anger. Because Gillian Foster had no reason to feel shame over any of this… she hadn't caused it. Even if she'd listened – even if she'd heeded every single warning he'd tried to give, it wouldn't have mattered one bit. Not with this guy. Not with the history they shared.

Standing mere inches in front of her, Cal did not look down. There was no need – he already knew what was printed on the page. He didn't need to see the small script… he just needed to hear the name.

His request was simple. "Tell me."

The anger in his voice was sharp and biting, but Gillian knew it was not directed at her.

"J-R-G," she slowly enunciated. "Jack Rader Group."


	12. Chapter 12

"_You never trust anyone, do you? That's why you'll always be alone."_

_Emily's comment stung, but he didn't give her a reaction. He didn't feel alone – at least not all the time. And no, maybe he didn't trust many people… but he trusted his daughter, and he trusted Gillian. With his life. They _were_ his life._

_He glanced around the café, trying to find the right words to fill the sudden silence. And that's when he saw her. She was just sitting there, casually reading a book and enjoying the unseasonably warm DC weather. And she was lovely – beautiful and demure and delicate, and Cal felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. Burns was gone now, for good. But he knew it would only be a matter of time before the next one came along and was as equally dazzled by her as Dave had been. Any man would be. Cal certainly was. _

_He hadn't planned to say it… he hadn't _meant_ to say it, really. But he turned back to Emily and spoke the words anyway, no longer feeling the need to hide them. _"I'm not alone."

_He didn't see Emily's smile as he rose from his chair and walked toward the front door, but he imagined it was there. He imagined that the idea pleased her… to know that he wanted someone in his life. That he wanted _Gillian_ in his life. And even if he wasn't ready to speak anything more aloud quite yet, those three words held the promise that he would be ready someday._

_Gillian didn't see him as he approached her table. But he watched her with every step, noticed every detail. Sometimes he thought he could study her for hours and never see the same thing twice. She fascinated him – graceful beauty mixed with raw determination. _God he loved her.

_For two people who'd dedicated their careers to finding the truth, no matter the consequences, it seemed ironic that they'd been hiding from their own truth for so many years. A bit hypocritical, it was. _

"_Hello there, love," he greeted her. When she glanced up and met his eye, her smile was as genuinely warm as his. She looked surprised to see him there. "Enjoying the book?"_

_Gillian nodded, and Cal was happy to note that her smile lingered even still. "Very much so," she answered, placing the marker between the pages and setting it off to the side by her bag so as to give him her full attention. "It's beautiful out here today, isn't it?"_

"_That it is," he agreed, nodding along. He nearly made a clichéd comment about it not being nearly as beautiful as she was, but he fought down the urge. Instead, he was silent and grinning at her so openly that his cheeks were beginning to ache and it was starting to make him self-conscious. If she noticed, though, she didn't comment on it._

"_Are you… meeting someone?" Her question was tentative – a bit hopeful, but mostly reserved._

"_I'm here with Emily," he said, pointing over his shoulder in the general direction of where his daughter sat. His eyes never left Gillian._

"_Oh, well I'd love some company if you're not rushing off anywhere," she said._

_Cal read relief on her features. Happiness, apprehension, and relief. And he thought if he smiled any wider, his face might actually be permanently damaged. _

_He sank into the chair opposite hers and leaned on his elbows as they rested on the table. Gillian's hands were fidgety beside his, which was odd because normally _he_ was the restless one. "Something on your mind, darling?" he asked. "You seem a bit tense."_

_Gillian blushed then, turning in her seat to angle her body toward his. Her hands stilled and she brought her right arm to rest casually across her lap while the fingers of her left hand drummed an abstract rhythm on the table top. "No, not really anything specific," she lied. "Just… thoughts."_

_Cal didn't call her on the lie. He assumed she was thinking about Burns and just didn't want to talk about it in front of him. Still, he didn't want Gillian to feel she had to hide her feelings. So he took a deep breath and said the only thing he thought might make her feel better. "I'm sorry I never really gave him a fair chance, Gill. I should have. I know he cared about you."_

_Gillian lowered her gaze and her fingers finally stilled. She let out one shaky breath, and then touched her hand to his knee, patting absently. When their eyes met again, she gave a shy smile. "Maybe… but I know you care about me, too, Cal. You were just trying to protect me. There's no harm in that."_

_Her hand was warm against him, and Cal had trouble focusing on anything else. It seemed like the entire city had shrunken down to just the two of them, sitting there in the beautiful DC sunshine. And anything he thought to say seemed small, somehow, in comparison to everything he wanted her to hear. He knew that something was changing between them. He just hoped that when the time came, he'd be able to be the kind of man that Gillian deserved._

_Knowing that she was waiting for his reply, Cal dropped his right hand to cover hers, as it still rested against his knee. Gillian blushed faintly, but didn't pull away._

"_No more secrets, right?" he finally asked._

"_No more secrets," she answered, turning her hand palm-up under his and lacing their fingers together._

* * *

><p><em>Cal wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting there, smiling and talking and laughing together. Could've been hours. It felt like mere minutes. When Emily finally approached the table, she waved at Gillian and tossed both of them a knowing half-smirk that caught Cal's attention immediately. Her brows raised in surprise at the sight of them sitting there hand in hand.<em>

_Cal smirked back and glanced down at the spot on his leg where their entwined fingers still rested. His ankle was propped up on his opposite knee, and he'd been steadily losing circulation for the entire time they'd been sitting together. Now that he'd noticed it, the pins and needles feeling was about to drive him insane, but he didn't want to move and make Gillian pull away from him. It was worth a little pain, he decided._

_Gillian laughed softly under her breath, no doubt picking up on the unspoken communication between Cal and Emily. "Thanks for letting me borrow your dad," she said with a smile. "Where are you guys heading off to now?"_

"_Oh, nowhere," Emily lied. "And you can borrow him anytime you like, Gill. I'm sure he'd much rather hang out here with you than follow me around for the next few hours."_

"_I feel so loved," Cal said dryly. It was an act, though… on the inside, he was grinning from ear to ear. He'd have to remember to thank Emily for that one. She was a good kid._

_Minutes later, they found themselves alone again and facing an unexpected lull in the conversation which neither seemed to know how to fill._

_Gillian was the first to try. "Feel like taking a walk?" she asked softly. "It might be nice to enjoy the city for a bit." She smiled at him again and reached to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear._

_He was a split second away from standing and offering her his arm, when her fingers flexed against his and he realized his leg was entirely numb now. Walking was going to be difficult. That is, walking without looking like some kind of wounded penguin was going to be difficult. Best case scenario, his ego was about to take a direct hit but he didn't care as much as he otherwise might, since it looked like he'd be spending the entire afternoon arm in arm (_or hand in hand – he wasn't too picky_) with Gillian. _

_She stood then, finally allowing her fingers to drop from his as she waited by his chair. When he tried to join her a second later, she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh._

_Cal made a grimace, blushing as he righted himself and then shook his right leg in a move akin to a puppy dog that had gotten its fur wet. He wiggled and hopped a bit, trying to regain the circulation without losing too much of his dignity. _

_When his body stilled again, he took a second to study her face. Everything about her was relaxed and happy. Her posture, her smile, the airy quality of the laugh that was escaping around the edges of her fingers… all of it was genuine and comfortable. Familiar, and long overdue. He didn't even mind that she was laughing _at him_. He was just happy to hear the sound of it._

"_Bloody pins and needles," he grunted as he shook it again. _

_Gillian dropped her hand and let loose with the laughter. The sound suited her. "You should've said something," she offered, slightly breathless. "I would've moved my hand."_

_Cal looked down and shuffled his foot against the pavement. Under different circumstances, it would have made him appear almost shy. "Nah," he answered, waving off her comment as she linked her arm through his. "I liked your hand just fine where it was."_

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Just wanted to note that Rader will be making an appearance in upcoming chapters... didn't want anyone to think I'd lost my mind and forgotten him since this one was all Callian fluff. Angst and arse-kicking ahead... next chapter coming soon! :)_**


	13. Chapter 13

_Standing mere inches in front of her, Cal did not look down. There was no need – he already knew what was printed on the page. He didn't need to see the small script… he just needed to hear the name. _

_His request was simple. "Tell me." _

_The anger in his voice was sharp and biting, but Gillian knew it was not directed at her. _

"_J-R-G," she slowly enunciated. "Jack Rader Group."_

* * *

><p>Cal seethed. Fists clenched, breaths coming in deep pulls that made his nostrils flare like an angry bull. He stood still, but his body practically vibrated with the need to move. Aggression and anger were warring with reason… the rational side of his brain knew that this is what Rader wanted, but the rest of him didn't care. The rest of him had thoughts of violence and impulsivity. He knew they'd both be undoubtedly satisfying.<p>

It was Gillian that finally snapped him out of it. Somehow through the haze of his own rage, he focused on her, silent and staring at him much like a deer in headlights. She was standing right in front of him – close enough that he could've easily reached out to touch her. He could've hugged her… held her… but he didn't. He just studied her face, stilled by what he found there.

Not anger, not even sadness. Just shame. The same expression he'd seen moments earlier when he walked into the office and found her sitting on his couch. Except now he realized that the expression had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with how Rader made her feel. _Bloody hell_.

Cal blinked heavily and let out a deep, tired sigh. Gillian mimicked him, as if she'd been waiting for him to direct what was to happen next. He felt the anger begin to ebb away with the release of breath, and so he reached out his hand to take hers. As soon as they touched, Gillian laced her fingers through his and squeezed.

It was reassuring somehow – it showed that she was staying there in the moment with him – not pulling away or hiding anything. Not running.

Cal brushed his thumb against the back of her hand and she gave a watery smile – close to crying but not quite there yet. But still… it was a smile. It was a start.

And it struck him then that Rader hadn't gotten what he wanted. Not yet, at least.

The thought was most definitely '_not yet_,' because history alone told him that something else was coming. He knew that whatever this whole thing was about, it was bigger than those photographs. _That_ had just been the first strike, designed to throw them off guard. To shake them. To shake their trust in each other. But so far, it wasn't working. Because despite everything – despite that bittersweet kiss and all the shouted accusations, despite all the awful words they'd spoken and the fact that they'd both completely vaulted over _The Line_ without even meaning to – they were still mostly intact. Mostly unscathed. Mostly whole.

And so he sighed again, as her fingers continued to squeeze his, and his voice had calmed to a tired resignation when he finally spoke. "That look on your face is just one more reason for me to hate him, Gill. For what he's trying to do to us."

She scoffed, shaking her head as she stepped backward until the distance between them forced her hand to part with his. When she spoke, her voice was calm and clear. "I don't want you to hate him, Cal."

_That was unexpected_. He didn't understand. And so his voice was tight and laced with confusion, accent thick, when he replied. "Why the hell not?" he asked. There was no malice behind the words – just genuine surprise. "Is it because that's what the wanker wants me to do? To hate him? And you don't want me to give him what he wants? You don't want me to give him that satisfaction?" He just kept asking those short, direct questions even though he knew they were irritating her, just trying to flush out a reading.

After his last question was spoken, Cal tried to step into her space but Gillian's posture tensed, stopping him. No sign of shame this time. Just disgust. At herself, he guessed, though he had no bloody clue as to why.

"That's not what he wants," she said simply. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and she thrust her chin upward, defiant.

The image struck him as funny – because as well as he knew her, she wasn't fooling him at all. Oh sure, she was trying to put on a brave face and not crumble, trying to act the tough girl, and not show anyone that she was angry or that she blamed herself or that a part of her hated Jack Rader just as much as Cal did. But he wasn't buying it at all.

Cal tried his damndest not to laugh, knowing it would only hurt her feelings. "You sound pretty confident about that, love," he finally said.

Gillian rolled her eyes. She'd easily seen the laugh he'd barely hidden. "He already knows you hate him. That's never been a secret – and quite frankly, the feeling is mutual. Jack hates you just as much."

Cal frowned, not even trying to hide it. One little word should not have bothered him – he knew that. It was just a word; just four short letters that held no power over him whatsoever. But he had another irrational flash of anger when he heard it – involuntary and immediate. And clear as a bell, his inner voice was already running off at the mouth.

'_So it's Jack now, is it? Not Rader. Not arsehole, or pompous ass, or any of the hundred other terms that are much more applicable. Just Jack.' _

She was personalizing him… Cal hadn't seen that one coming. He knew he needed to let it go – Gillian probably didn't realize what she'd said, and even if she did, she probably didn't mean anything by it. It wasn't intentional. He needed to bite his tongue.

But he didn't. He couldn't. After all, he wouldn't be Cal Lightman if he didn't put his foot in his mouth at least once in a while.

And so he sneered – offering her a thin, false smile that bared both his teeth and his true emotion. "You two on a first name basis now, yeah?" he asked. Then he turned away from her and walked a few paces toward the door, increasing the distance between them. Protecting himself. "Jack and Gillian… kind of cute, that. Sounds all Mother Goose-y, don't you think?"

_Jesus, he was an idiot. A jealous, cantankerous idiot. He knew it as soon as his words hit the air. And he'd count himself lucky if she didn't kick him right in the balls._

Gillian glared. "Are you finished now?"

He glared right on back, not willing to admit he was being an ass. "Are you?"

Cal watched her eyes narrow into tiny slits to match the tight line of her mouth. She was nearly nose to nose with him, just as she had been that morning – not backing down at all. And the rational voice in the back of his head started to scream then, that he was taking his anger out on the wrong person. Gillian wasn't the bad guy, here – that role belonged solely to Jack Rader. Gillian just had the misfortune of being the closest target.

For a full minute, they just stared at each other. But then she shook her head, taking one small step backwards as she finally spoke. "Look Cal, I don't want to do this anymore."

Her tone dripped with defeat, and the sound of it made him suddenly panicky. His eyes went wide again, totally unsure as to what part of "_this_" she didn't want to do. Talk to him? Look at him? He felt like he was on some damned roller coaster and it was making him sick – literally nauseated at his own inability to control his emotions. Fear, hostility, passion, love, regret… all of it was a jumbled, tangled mess that he couldn't really make sense of anymore.

She must've seen the panic creep in because she stepped closer to him – not tentatively this time, but with urgency, letting him know that he'd misunderstood. Her small hand landed on the outside of his bicep, near his shoulder. And then her other hand landed on his chest – so lightly that he barely felt it at all. But then she stroked over his chest, near his heart. Smooth, simple circles that became so bloody distracting that he nearly groaned. Instead, he croaked her name through gritted teeth. "Gillian…"

"I don't want to fight with you," she clarified. "I _hate_ fighting with you."

Cal nodded and swallowed, not yet trusting his voice to form an answer. He didn't want to fight with her, either. And he knew he should say that – exactly that. Straightforward, simple and direct. But that bloody roller coaster was back again, tossing him from hostility headlong into arousal with every press of her fingers against his skin. His timing sucked, of course. He knew that, too.

When he'd been silent for too long, Gillian began to get nervous. Her hands pressed more firmly against him and she tilted her head a fraction closer to his, tentatively speaking his name. "Cal…?"

He swallowed again. Bloody hell, he wanted to kiss her. He settled on honesty instead. "You're killing me here, you know that?"

A beat later, her nose wrinkled in confusion. She had no idea. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Cal smirked, felt himself blush, and then glanced down at her hand, which was still stroking against him. Her fingers had taken to making spidery motions – flexing in and out across his chest in a slow rhythm that was something akin to sweet torture.

Gillian had a delayed reaction; her eyes followed his and when she finally realized what she was doing, she stilled. Then she stammered, offering a quiet apology but she _didn't_ pull her hand away.

He nearly groaned again. Instead, he said the first thought that popped into his overly stimulated brain. "It's totally inappropriate, you know," he began. And when he felt her start to pull her hand away, his sprang into motion and gripped the warm skin of her wrist. "That is, it's totally inappropriate how much I want to kiss you right now."

Gillian didn't breathe, blink, or move for at least ten seconds. Ten long, silent, agonizing seconds, during which Cal began to panic all over again… began to wish the floor would just open up and swallow him because clearly, he'd gotten it wrong.

But then she began to move – so slowly that he might not have noticed at all if he hadn't been watching for her reaction like a paranoid fool. Her body pulled closer to his and the tiniest coy smile teased the corners of her mouth. At the sight of it, he felt the circulation return to his limbs and the panic began to fade away, replaced by an almost primal urge to kiss her, hard and long. When his tongue snaked out to wet his lips, she mimicked the motion and he let his hand land low on her waist, between her hip and the small of her back.

Gillian's eyes flickered all over his face before finally settling intently on his mouth. And then a few short seconds later – just as he began to close the scant distance between them, the shrill mechanical tone of the intercom signal sounded from the phone on his desk. Cal had visions of throwing the bloody thing through the wall but before he could move, Heidi's voice carried through the speaker with a tentative pitch. "Excuse me, Doctor Foster?" she asked.

Gillian didn't move. She held still and smirked at him. "Yes, Heidi?"

"Sorry to bother you, but Mr. Rader is on line four for you. He says it's regarding a pending case."

With that, her smirk dropped away, right along with Cal's hand as it fell from her waist. He blinked at her and swallowed, eyes narrowing in confusion that clearly bordered on fury. He looked almost accusatory – as if she must know exactly why Jack Rader was calling now and had maliciously chosen _not_ to tell him.

He took two slow steps backward, creating distance between them again. Self-preservation. His eyes were locked on hers and she watched a myriad of emotion flash across his features. _Deep breaths… flared nostrils… clenched fists_. Fury was putting it mildly. He felt betrayed.

"Something you'd like to tell me, Foster?"


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Starting the Gillian / Rader back story. This takes place at the end of 'Beat the Devil.' Thanks for all the wonderful reviews - will update again as soon as possible (been out of town for the last week).**_

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><p>"Fancy a quick bite?"<p>

_She'd been so tempted to say yes. She started to, actually. In that split second when he first asked, she felt the acceptance on the tip of her tongue, and then something pulled it back again. One step forward, two steps back. _

_Cal had almost died that night. He'd dug his own grave and been water boarded by that sadistic bastard again and again and again… and when it was all finally over, he'd come to her. 'I'm here, Gillian. I need you, Gillian. Please.' She easily heard the words he wouldn't allow himself to speak... she saw them all through his cautiously hopeful eyes as he waited for her answer. And when she gave it, her own cowardice shamed her._

"Thanks, I've got… work."

_Funny how such a short phrase could carry so much weight. So many emotions… so much baggage. Sometimes it felt like way too much for two people to carry. Sometimes she wondered how they'd managed to do it for so long. _

"_Work" was just an excuse, and Cal knew it. He saw right through her._ _She didn't even have_ to try _to read him_ – _that's how utterly defeated he looked. Tired and weak and utterly worn down, and given the evening he'd had, she was surprised he was still functioning at all. The gift of compartmentalization, maybe. Or maybe it was a curse. She didn't have the energy to analyze it._

_She tipped back her glass, draining the last of the amber liquid that swirled within it, and set it back on the counter with a loud clink. Under different circumstances, she would have stopped after the first one. She would have been cautious, careful… responsible. But not tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight she felt the pull of irresponsibility, craved the feeling of numbness she knew would eventually come. Tonight she needed to forget._

_She'd almost lost Cal tonight, and here she sat, in the corner of some dark, dingy bar, trying to drown her sorrows and forget the entire sordid mess. Alone, when she didn't have to be. Lonely when she didn't have to be. And utterly terrified to face the feelings that were becoming almost impossible to ignore._

_Gillian sighed, suddenly tired from all the self-disgust. She waved down the bartender to request a third drink, shrugged off the instinct that told her she should've stopped at two, and happily accepted the fresh glass. She was a few sips in, still lost in thoughts of Cal and still hating herself for turning him away, when the footsteps approached behind her._

"_Care for some company?"_

_She frowned, feeling the alcohol start to make her reaction time fuzzy. She didn't recognize the man's voice and she really didn't want to be bothered with small talk. The words sounded friendly enough, but without a thick, British cadence to accompany them, she wasn't interested enough to turn and face the speaker. This man wasn't Cal, and that's all she needed to know._

_When she still hadn't reacted a few seconds later, she heard a soft chuckle behind her and then the man spoke again. "Never took you for the barstool type, Gillian. I always thought you were a little too… refined for that. All these years in Lightman's shadow must finally be taking their toll."_

_Realization dawned on her then, and she felt a clear flash of irritation. The drinks might've slowed her down, but they didn't make her desperate enough to spend the evening in a pissing match with this guy. She took one more pull on her drink and smacked the glass on the bar top again. The sound was louder than necessary, but she didn't really care. She wasn't in the mood to be polite. _

_Gillian swiveled on the stool and dismissed him with a look. Her frown was as prominent as his conceited smile. "Not interested," she said firmly. _

_And that was the truth – she wasn't. Not because Jack Rader repulsed her, but simply because in her current state, any man who wasn't Cal Lightman repulsed her. The alcohol was to blame, mostly. That and her own infernal stubbornness. The drinks lowered her social graces, and the stubbornness kept her on the stool, in Rader's company instead of where she really wanted to be… anywhere with Cal._

"_Rough day, I take it?"_

_Jack slid onto the stool next to hers without an invitation. The man oozed smugness. It was as natural to him as breathing. He was an arrogant, self-righteous bastard, even on a good day. It hadn't bothered her too badly a few months earlier, when they'd worked that case together while Cal was in Mexico. She'd expected it, after all… hell, to hear Cal's take on it, she'd damn near expected horns and a tail to go along with the attitude. _

_But now, watching him as he perched beside her and dropped insults at Cal just as easily as the grey sky drops rain, Gillian didn't feel like making excuses. She didn't feel like brushing Jack's attitude aside, or trying to be the better person. She felt like throwing her drink right in his pompous face._

_He must've grown tired of waiting for an answer, because he laughed again – and yes, even his laugh was conceited. He laughed and shook his head and leaned into her space, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath reach her skin. His eyes danced an intrusive path across her face, down her neckline to the top of her dress, and back again. She felt exposed. And really, really angry. And that's when he said it… the words that made her skin literally crawl. "Come on, Foster. Let me buy you another drink. I won't tell if you won't."_

_Without thinking, Gillian closed her fist around the bottom of her half-full glass and hoisted it above his head. If anyone else noticed, they didn't interrupt. Her wrist tilted, sloshing the liquid closer to the edge, but just a split second before she poured it on him, Jack laughed yet again. Like it was all a game to him. Like his entire intention was to toy with her… knock her off her center… mess with her head. _

"_Look what he's doing to you, Gillian. The Doctor Foster I saw weeks ago was nothing like… this." Jack eyed her up and down again, faster this time and managing to lace his obvious attraction with just enough malice to make her want to slap him. Cat and mouse, Rader style._

_She had no idea what he was trying to pull, exactly, but the specifics didn't matter. He was sneaky and deliberate and it was all enough to put her suspicions on high alert, even in her slightly inebriated state. Gillian didn't know what made her say it… what made her engage him in conversation at all. She should have walked away. But she didn't. She couldn't. Her gut reaction – aside from wanting to slap him or pour her drink on him – was to defend Cal. And so, she tried. _

"_Not that it's any of your business, Jack… but Cal isn't doing anything to me. Not every decision or action in my life revolves around him."_

_He grinned at her, pleased that she was playing along. "Is that right? Well, let's see… fancy black dress, killer heels, nursing your third drink, and sitting at a bar alone. You're either waiting for a man, or running from one. And given Lightman's control freak tendencies, I doubt he'd let another man within fifty feet of you. Come to think of it, he'd probably hate it if he knew I was here right now. Sitting with you… appreciating that aforementioned black dress and heels in a way he's never allowed himself to do. I'd say he'd be downright jealous."_

_Gillian didn't speak. She didn't move, didn't flinch… tried not to even blink, for fear of giving him a reaction to read. For a few moments, it was a veritable stare down. But he finally broke, looked away, and stood to leave. _

_He had only one parting comment. "Lightman isn't doing anything to you, huh?" The laugh was there again, quiet but still just as smug as he pondered the rest of his comment. "Maybe that's the real problem."_

_The innuendo hung between them, heavy in his wake as he walked away._

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><p><em>An hour later, the taxi pulled up in front of Cal's house. Gillian sat in the back, one hand on the door handle and both eyes on his dimly lit living room window. She saw his car in the driveway, saw his lone shadow as it moved toward the front door and peered outside. She knew he was waiting for her.<em>

_She paid the fare and thanked the driver, then offered Cal a shy wave. As if she wasn't sure she'd be welcome. But then he waved back, tossed her a warm smile, and motioned her inside. And she knew they were alright, then. Or at least that they would be. For now, that was enough._

_When they finally stood face to face, Cal smiled. "Getting piss drunk is my job, darling. Best not to go trying to fill those shoes, yeah?"_

_She giggled, finding his comment much funnier than it probably was. She blamed it on the liquor… well, that and the total flood of relief she felt in knowing he was safe, and real, and alive, right in front of her. So much emotion. Too much to contain._

_Not knowing what else to say, Gillian threw her arms open and just stood there, waiting. Within a second, he stepped into her space and she folded around him, hugging tightly and whispering apologies against his cheek. For not believing him. For not listening to him. For turning him away. _

_He felt so warm. Warm, solid, and safe. She didn't want to let him go._

_Cal pulled back first – just enough to look at her face, but not enough to leave the circle of her arms. His eyes were kind and compassionate when they met hers. Trusting. Hoping._

"_We certainly have our moments, don't we love?"_

_Days later, when she was clear headed and completely sober, Gillian would replay that statement a thousand times in her mind and wonder what it really meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. _

_Maybe in his own way, he was just still waiting for her._

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><p><strong><em>Anoter note: I'm borrowing Cal's line from the end of Beat the Devil, when Gillian concludes that Cal really did love Helen. He replies, "We had our moments." Just a little play on that to wrap this chapter up. Thanks again!<em>**


	15. Chapter 15

_He took two slow steps backward, creating distance between them again. Self-preservation. His eyes were locked on hers and she watched a myriad of emotion flash across his features. Deep breaths… flared nostrils… clenched fists. Fury was putting it mildly. He felt betrayed. _

"_Something you'd like to tell me, Foster?"_

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><p>Gillian Foster knew that look well. It was sharp, biting, and unashamedly cruel. She'd only been on the receiving end of it a handful of times in all the years they'd known each other, but there was no mistaking it as anything else. It was an accusation… a pre-emptive strike, as if he didn't care about hurting her, because in his mind, he'd already taken the first blow.<p>

_Jack Rader, one __–__ Cal Lightman, zero. _

"Cal, I…"

He wouldn't let her explain. He held up one hand to stop her, shaking his head as he took another step backward. His eyes danced across her face, then up and down her body in a look that was half appraisal, half disgust. Jealousy, laced with scorn. _That_ was worse than the anger… she was familiar with anger. Knew how to handle it – knew how to handle it from _Cal_. But this? This was new. It made her feel exposed and raw and guilty.

_Guilty_ because he still didn't know the whole story; she'd kept bits and pieces to herself. Not lying, really… more like, omitting certain details that she knew would only hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him. And the irony didn't escape her that now Cal would see the omissions – read them right on her face, know she'd been keeping secrets from him, and then jump to some ridiculous conclusion that was based entirely on emotion rather than fact.

_In short, she was screwed._

Cal spoke then, right on cue. "Doing a little freelance work, are you?" he sneered. "A little side project, yeah? Something to fill up your nights since Burnsy left?" His accent was rough, and the openly spiteful way he spat the word "freelance" left little doubt as to the context in which he meant it.

Gillian felt a flash of anger run through her, and she knew it showed on her face. She _knew_ he saw it… that he was waiting for it. He knew exactly what buttons to push and exactly how hard to push them to get a reaction. Almost a decade of history together had taught him well enough.

She'd expected anger – hell, even the feelings of betrayal were justified. But bringing Burns into it, too? That was just plain hateful. Because no matter how furious Cal was, and no matter how riled this whole situation had gotten him, he ought to know her better than that. He _ought_ to know that she wouldn't sleep with Jack Rader if he was the last man on earth and her sole salvation depended on it. He ought to…

"Struck a nerve there, did I?" he mocked, probably hoping that the words would shake her out of her silence.

Gillian's eyes locked on his, noting the defiance she found there. Cal was way over the line and they both knew it – he just didn't happen to care about the consequences at all. He was solely focused on getting a reaction. He was pushing her to admit something that hadn't even happened, just so he could "win." Just so that he could be "right."

Whatever the hell "_right_" meant anymore. She'd lost track of its meaning somewhere along the way.

When she still hadn't spoken, he tried again. He cocked his head to the side a bit, trying to read her from a distance as a small, false smile bared his teeth. "What's the matter, Foster – cat got your tongue?" he finally asked.

She fought the urge to react, knowing it was exactly what he wanted. And when she didn't answer, he simply shrugged, feigning disinterest. "S'ok," he said. "You and I have never needed words anyway, have we?"

Gillian flinched then, despite herself. Her hands balled into fists and her posture straightened. He saw it instantly.

"So I'll leave it up to you, then," he continued, arrogant as hell. He was closer to her now – just a bit, but still noticeable. At least, it was noticeable to her. She hadn't decided yet if it was intentional or not.

"Would you rather tell me what dirty little secret you and Rader have been keeping," he continued, "or would you like me to just read it all over your face?"

And that was it – the turning point. The point at which her own anger overruled her desire to remain neutral. "Damn it, Cal! You're a real ass sometimes, you know that?" She was shouting – shoving her pointed finger at him for emphasis as she spoke. And in the heat of the moment, she didn't care who heard her. At least they were behind closed doors this time.

Cal just grinned at her reaction, baring his teeth again. "'Been called worse, more times than I can count," he offered. "People usually put the word 'pompous' in there, too. Bloody smug bastard, I am."

She watched him shove his hands in his pockets and bounce forward on the balls of his feet. Causal… confident… cocky. It was practically a dare.

_I dare you to walk away, Foster. I dare you to argue with me, Foster. I dare you to leave me, Foster._

She knew it was all just an act. A twisted way of protecting himself that she'd seen him use so many times with so many others… a sad 'hurt them before they hurt you' kind of philosophy that annoyed her to no end. What she'd told him earlier still rang true. She didn't want to do this anymore… the fighting, the games, the infernally stubborn dance they'd been doing for years. Someone had to end it. It might as well be her.

So she sighed and took one small step toward him – hesitant, but still wanting to get closer. To fix things between them before they spiraled any further out of control. But when she opened her mouth to try and call him on his petulant behavior, the sound of his laugh stopped her cold.

He was looking straight into her eyes and still daring her to back away. And then he approached her with long, rapid strides until he'd completely invaded her space again, just like he'd done in the hallway that morning. He quirked a brow, as if he was halfway amused by what he was about to say, and halfway ashamed of it.

Given the circumstances, she should have expected the later.

Cal paid no attention to the surprise that flashed on her face in reaction to his words. "You do go for that arrogant type, don't you, Foster? In fact, you bloody well married one of the most arrogant men I've ever met," he quipped.

And then he paused, letting the room grow quiet again before he threw one last strike. "At least Rader's not a cokehead though, so that's a bit of good news for you."

Gillian reeled back like she'd been physically slapped_. Quick delivery… searing pain_. Like some kind of God damned verbal left hook, right out of nowhere. She hadn't seen it coming at all.

Cal was still staring into her eyes, completely fixated by what he found there when he finally stopped talking. Anger... resentment... pain. So _of course_ he noticed when the tears started to form. Of course he noticed her trying to blink them away. And for the most part, she was successful.

But then one lone tear spilled down past her cheek, slowly… and she didn't try to hide it anymore.

She'd let him win this time.

For several moments, they just watched each other. Gillian's soft crying mixed with Cal's ragged breaths until those were the only sounds in the room, and neither had a clue as to what to say next. In his defense, Cal did at least look remorseful. Shameful. If he hadn't, she would have already walked away.

"Gillian, I…" he stuttered, not knowing how to begin. "What I said before… about Burns? It was… well, I shouldn't have assumed… you know?"

Back to Gillian now. Not Foster, or Gill. _Gillian_. That, coupled with those few broken phrases was as close to an apology as he could come.

She sighed and sniffled, hating the feeling of vulnerability that always came along with her tears. And then just for the record – just because she needed him to understand how far off base his assumption actually was, she echoed his earlier comment. "In case you're forgetting, Cal… since Dave left, I've spent nearly every single evening with _you_."

Cal flashed shame again, more pronounced than before. He swallowed nervously, then glanced away. "Maybe that's the problem, then," he said cryptically.

But before he could elaborate, the intercom on his desk phone beeped again, and Heidi's polite voice cut through the tension in the air. "Doctor Foster?" she interrupted. "Is everything alright?"

Gillian nodded instinctively, though the woman couldn't see her. "Everything is fine," she lied. Her eyes never left Cal's face, even though his were cast downward toward the floor.

Heidi cleared her throat before continuing. "Mr. Rader opted not to hold the line to speak with you," she said. "He asked if you would please meet him downtown this evening to discuss things. Unfortunately, he disconnected the call before I could get any other details."

Cal's head snapped up then, absorbing the information. Weighing it… judging it. Judging _her_, and whatever reaction she was about to give. The anger was back again, but this time he was doing a much better job of controlling it.

"Thank you, Heidi," she answered. And then before Cal could look away, or walk away, or form any other judgment of any kind, she couldn't help adding one last sentiment. "And if Mr. Rader should happen to call again, please tell him to go straight to hell."

Cal grinned at that, completely pleased. Mistakenly thinking he'd won, and that all was forgiven. But as soon as he took one step toward Gillian, she stiffened and headed for his door.

"Gillian, I…" he tried again. But this time, _she_ wouldn't let _him _explain.

She turned on her heel, facing him one last time. "And as far as I'm concerned, Cal… if you ever speak to me like that again, you can follow him there."


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Apologies for the slow update - life got a bit crazy for a few days. Hopefully a long chapter will make it up to you. More to come soon. And as always, thanks for reading & reviewing - it is much appreciated!** _

**_This chapter is the rest of the back story between Gillian and Jack Rader. And for the few lines I borrowed from the show - I don't claim them as my own._**

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><p>"So, all that talk about you being a bad liar, that's just an act, right? That's a lie."<p>

"Depends on the lie."

_Gillian really hadn't meant to cry. But the tears had formed anyway, and once she was safe within the circle of his embrace, she couldn't hold them back. Only a few actually fell, though – the rest just burned in the corners of her eyes until she managed to blink them away. She and Cal had kept too many secrets between them for far too long. The tears were just a tangible symptom of the fact that it was getting harder and harder to hide them._

_She wasn't sure how long they held each other. And when she finally lifted her head from his shoulder, the look in his eyes frightened her. It was raw and honest, and full of unchecked feelings._

_It was Gillian who pulled away first, not Cal. It was Gillian who stammered an apology as she dabbed at her eyes and looked down at the floor. Shy… self-conscious… ashamed. And it was Gillian who stepped backward, until distance forced his hands to drop from her body._

_Cal cleared his throat and shifted both hands to his pockets, while hers clenched and came across her body protectively. "Feel like a drink?" he finally offered, staring to shuffle toward the reserve of scotch that was always kept on hand._

_Of course she did. More than one, quite frankly. But something told her it might be better if she left while she was still level headed enough to do so alone._

_So she shook her head and tossed him a half-hearted smile, only meeting his eyes for a moment. "Rain check?" she asked. The tone was half hope, half regret._

_Cal's matched it. "'Course, love," he said._

_And then she walked away, kicking herself in the ass for being a coward. She didn't look back._

_Halfway home, the growling in her stomach convinced her to stop for Chinese takeout and a large container of chocolate ice cream. Just two quick stops and then she could relax in peace… de-stress and take her mind of things. Translation – take her mind off Cal. Or at least try._

_Gillian sighed as she pulled up in front of the restaurant, then checked her reflection in the vanity mirror one last time before hopping out to retrieve her order. She frowned at the sight of herself; the sniffles and tears had dried up shortly after she left Cal's office, but her cheeks and nose were still sporting faint splotches of red. The curse of pale skin, she thought as she flipped the mirror closed and stepped out of the car. With any luck, she wouldn't run in to anyone she knew._

_She'd made it to the counter and was waiting for them to bring out her order when his voice piped up behind her, just as arrogant and smug as last time. "Glad to see you're sober this time, Gillian," he quipped. "I trust you won't try to pour anything over my head this evening."_

_She still faced away from him, but there was a smile in his voice that she didn't miss._

_She rolled her eyes and tried to resist the urge to engage him in conversation – to wipe that damn smile right off his face with a few well placed insults. For the first few seconds, she managed to ignore him. But then he started to chuckle softly, keeping the sound of it deep in his throat and so low that she probably wouldn't have heard it at all if he hadn't been standing right behind her._

_"Alone again, I take it," Rader said. He must've stepped closer before speaking, because now she could feel the warmth of his body transferring onto hers. The proximity bothered her, but not as much as the heat of his breath as it grazed across her neck when he spoke._

_She'd been in his company for less than a full minute, and she already wanted to smack him._

_"The silent treatment is beneath you, Doctor Foster."_

_Another eye roll. Jesus, he was infuriating… like a little boy pulling pigtails to get a girl's attention. A very well dressed, well spoken, well educated child. Gillian shut her eyes and sighed loudly, knowing he could hear it._

_'Just shrug it off,' she told herself. 'Ignore him and he'll go away. He's only trying to bait you into talking about Cal… just so he can insult the Group or insult the man himself. Petty jealousy, and nothing more.'_

_Everything was going fine until Rader took the liberty of touching her. His hand landed lightly on her shoulder and he squeezed, no doubt feeling her body tense as he did so. And then he leaned forward again and spoke near her ear. "I admire your restraint, Gillian. Lightman would've already reacted with violence by now – or at least he would have tried." There was a small pause for effect before he set the rest of the trap. "But I guess I do have to admire the man for never letting his… shall we say, _small stature_, stand in the way of a challenge."_

_That finally did it, just as he'd known it would._

_In a flash, Gillian spun on her heel to face him. He was grinning at her, triumphant… for the first few seconds, anyway. And then she watched his expression shift to surprise before settling back to arrogance again._

_"You've been crying," he offered. It wasn't a question, because the answer was obvious. "What's he done this time?"_

_"God damn it, Jack!" she shouted, oblivious to the other patrons that were standing nearby. "As I told you before, not everything in my life revolves around Cal Lightman."_

_He nodded politely, and then shifted forward on the balls of his feet. "But those tear stains do, don't they?"_

_Gillian narrowed her eyes and stepped further away from him, annoyed and disgusted. He was such a presumptuous bastard._

_"My personal life is none of your concern, Jack. We are not colleagues, and we are not friends. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the sooner we can forget this conversation even happened."_

_Silence fell between them as they coolly regarded one another – Jack Rader the picture of composed arrogance, and Gillian Foster looking as if she'd really like to kick him in the groin. But before either of them could say another word, her order was brought out by a timid looking woman who looked extremely embarrassed at having to be the one to interrupt them._

_To her credit, Gillian looked equally embarrassed. "Forgive me for shouting," she apologized as she took the bag from the young woman's hands. Then she glared pointedly at Jack. "Some people just seem to have a talent for bringing out the worst in me."_

_Gillian began to walk away, but she'd only gotten a few paces before he called after her. "You didn't have any complaints when we worked together a few months ago. In fact, I quite enjoyed our… professional chemistry," he said, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist either of the comments._

_With a huff, she stopped mid-stride and glanced at him over her shoulder. "Temporary insanity," she shrugged, offering him the same arrogant smile he'd been sporting during their entire exchange. "I'm over it now."_

_Jack nodded, then looked her up and down and took one purposeful step towards her. "It really is a shame, you know," he said, baiting her._

_"What is?" she sighed, angry with herself for acknowledging him again._

_"The fact that we aren't colleagues," he answered._

_And then he simply walked away without giving her the chance to reply._

* * *

><p><em>Late the next afternoon, Gillian casually strolled into Cal's office with two fresh mugs of coffee in her hands and a smile that sat in direct opposition to the tension that had hung between them the previous day. Everything was back to normal – or at least, back to their version of normal. She'd learned not to get too used to it.<em>

_"So I ran into Jack Rader on the way home last night," Gillian casually offered as she settled herself into the chair across from his. "That's twice in two weeks now. Thought you might find it… interesting." She kept her face purposely blank and quietly sipped from her mug as she waited for his reaction._

_It didn't take long. Cal sputtered and coughed and managed to spit a partial mouthful of coffee down the front of his shirt. "Bloody hell, Gill, what_ _was that – a setup?" He coughed again and dabbed himself with a tissue, more concerned with saving his dignity than his stained clothing._

_Cal easily caught the laugh she tried to bite back, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion when he did so. "Oi! It's not funny," he scolded. "Next time I'll bring you the coffee and drop a few names in your lap and then we'll see how you like it."_

_Gillian grinned and then rolled her eyes at him out of habit. "Do you want to hear the story, or not?"_

_At her question, Cal sat up a bit straighter in his chair, then gave a mouth frown and bared his teeth a bit as he leaned forward on his elbows. "So it's a story now, is it?" he mocked. "Let me guess: Jack Rader caught you out at some bar all alone and then tried to sweet talk you while simultaneously flinging insults at me? That about sum it up, love?"_

_Damn him. How the hell did he guess that?_

_Gillian's silence was her answer, and after a moment Cal grinned triumphantly. "The wanker probably flirted with you too. Am I right?"_

_Of course he was right. He knew he was right. It didn't stop his need to point it out, though. And Gillian frowned at him, toying with the fleeting thought that Jack Rader might have learned a thing or two about smug arrogance from the master himself._

_Cal picked up on her unspoken thought instantly. "Now, now… that wasn't very nice," he reprimanded._

_She took another sip, clearly annoyed but flashing wide, innocent eyes at him. "I didn't say anything."_

_"You didn't have to, darling."_

_A beat passed between them, and the impish look on Cal's face managed to pull hers into exasperated smile. "I guess I didn't," she agreed._

_Cal shifted again – coffee mug in hand – and the movement sloshed the warm liquid closer to the edge, nearly causing it to spill into his lap. He paid it no attention. "Hit it right on the mark then, did I?" he asked. "About the flirting and the insults?"_

_"More or less," she shrugged. "I did run into him at a bar the first time, but he caught me getting takeout last night. Small world, I guess. The insults were flying on both occasions, of course. But given the source, I would have expected nothing less."_

_Her comment caught Cal mid-sip, and he coughed again. Then he set the mug on the desktop with a loud smack, and made a noise deep in his throat that was something close to a growl. His expression was pure jealousy but it was gone a second later, replaced by anger was probably partially directed at her for not having told him sooner._

_In all honesty, she wouldn't have told him at all if not for their second encounter. Once was a coincidence. Twice was… weird. And as deep as Cal's disgust ran where Jack Rader was concerned, she thought it better to be safe than sorry._

_She heard him growl again, lost in thought, and the sound made her feel guilty. "I know, I know," she offered, holding up one hand in front of her to stop his words before they could start. "I know I should have told you. But I'm a big girl, Cal, and I can take care of myself."_

_A third growl sounded, and he looked completely unconvinced._

_"Jack Rader is harmless – you know that," she continued. "He's just an overgrown child, using every available angle to try and get one-up on you. It's jealousy, plain and simple. And I imagine our conversation last night was the last I'll hear from the man."_

_Her explanation finished, Gillian sighed and sipped again, watching Cal's face from behind her mug._

_Cal shifted in his chair yet again, unable to resist the urge to fidget. He was back to leaning on his elbows again, putting himself closer to her. "Take it from me, Gill," he insisted. "Jack Rader is not harmless. He's a sneaky, egotistical tosser with a super sized ego and general distaste for authority figures. Thinks he's better than everyone else, yeah? So as far as mind games and double crossing are concerned, that wanker is most certainly not harmless. Not at all."_

_She swallowed and nodded, not at all surprised by anything he said but very surprised by the intensity behind the words. It felt good to see him so protective… and more than a little bit jealous. Sometimes it was overbearing, but other times – like now – it felt flattering._

_Gillian smirked at the thought, but Cal didn't catch it. "Then I imagine you'd be proud of me for nearly pouring my drink over his head," she added. She made it sound like an after thought, but they both knew it wasn't._

_He let out another growl, this time making it sound more seductive than angry. "Very," he insisted._

_"Good to know." She sipped again, using the mug to hide her grin._

* * *

><p><em>A seven figure loan had done wonders to raise Gillian's spirits, and the fact that the Group would now be more or less financially stable for the next year was just the icing on top of her proverbial cake. Add in one undeniably flirty moment with Cal after Clara sauntered away from them, and she was enjoying the best mood she'd felt in weeks.<em>

_So it was strictly on impulse that she'd stopped by the florist on the way home from work that afternoon. There was no special occasion… no real reason to buy them at all, save for the fact that they were beautiful and they made her smile. Roses, for no other reason than the fact that she wanted them. Wanted to look at them, and smell them, and put them in a beautiful vase on her desk to enjoy for the next few days._

_It had been… well, ages really, since she'd had such a beautiful bouquet in her office. Not since the days of Alec's guilt-laden floral extravaganza during the home stretch of their marriage._

_Unless she counted that delivery Jack had sent, of course. Which she didn't. Although she did enjoy the look on Cal's face as he read the card that had come with them. That had been priceless._

_She'd chosen pink buds, a full dozen, because they made her happy and because she deserved them. And she was waiting in line to pay the vendor when she caught a glimpse of him approaching her from the side. He was smiling as she turned toward him – and although it seemed genuine, she couldn't shake Cal's warning from the day before._

_Jack Rader was by her side in seconds, careful to keep a bit more distance between them this time. Gillian was relieved. It saved her the trouble of pushing him away, verbally or otherwise._

_"Good to see you, Gillian," he greeted. So far, it was the most pleasant exchange they'd had to date. Thirty whole polite seconds – a new record._

_"Jack," she nodded in reply. It was non-committal but still gracious, which was exactly the point._

_She must have flashed a confused expression, because a second later he gestured between them and shrugged._

_"Boundaries," he offered. "I thought maybe if I respected them a little more, these conversations would be much more pleasant."_

_And to his credit, it was much more pleasant. He didn't invade her space, didn't touch her – didn't really even insult Cal, save for one snippy little comment comparing him to a tattooed Chihuahua with a British accent. Small stature… big attitude, with a few battle scars to match._

_But it was off the cuff and said in such a teasing, silly manner that Gillian hardly paid attention to it. Maybe she really had been overreacting before… maybe he really hadn't meant to ruffle her feathers. Before she knew it, they'd made ten minutes worth of small talk and then Jack Rader was on his way again, lost among the DC crowds._

_Gillian simply paid for her roses and didn't give the man one extra thought._

* * *

><p><em>"Pleasant, Gillian? Seriously? Trust me, love, that's a word that should never be spoken in conjunction with Jack Rader."<em>

_Cal was already two steps ahead of her, like a caffeinated ping pong ball. It never ceased to amaze her that the man had such a hard time holding still._

_She caught up to him at the elevator as they waited for it to arrive at their floor. She simply shrugged, unconcerned and unsurprised. "I'm serious, Cal. He just made small talk with me while I waited in line to pay for the flowers – that's all. No flirting, no insulting the Group (she didn't dare mention the Chihuahua reference), and then he left. No harm done."_

_He squinted, long and hard. "Nope, not buying it. Mark my words – that plonker is up to something."_

_Gillian waved off the comment with a laugh. "Maybe not," she offered. And then she leaned toward him just a bit and poked one slender finger into his chest. "Maybe he just enjoys my company, and he finally decided to stop acting like overgrown little boy who likes antagonize me all the time."_

_Her tone was light hearted, but Cal caught the comparison and he wasn't amused._

_So she grinned and poked him in the chest again, teasing. "Maybe you should take a lesson from him. It might serve you well one day."_

_Instantly, he flashed a wolfish smile and stepped into her space until they were practically chest to chest. When she swallowed nervously a second later, the smile widened. "Antagonizing is half the fun, darling. Sounds like Rader just doesn't know how to work his talents as well as I do."_

_Gillian blushed and swallowed again, her heart pounding in her ears as he spoke. They'd gone from casual to intense in ten seconds flat, and the tone of voice was really starting to get to her… low and gravely, accent thick. It was downright seductive, and he knew it._

_Seizing the opportunity, Cal raised one hand to the small of her back and she blinked, temporarily distracted by the gesture. "It's an art, really," he continued, his voice softer now. "Bit of a verbal tug of war… all in good fun, of course. And very arousing when done correctly, wouldn't you say?"_

_She gave another nervous swallow, but no words escaped her lips. Speech would've been damn near impossible at that point, considering her throat was as dry as a desert._

_A beat later, the elevator doors opened and Cal stepped backwards, letting his wolfish grin morph into one of smug satisfaction. "I'll take that as a yes, then," he said, leaving her dumbfounded and staring after him when the doors finally closed between them._

_He always did like to have the last word._

* * *

><p><em>Within a month, Gillian Foster had run into Jack Rader on at least five other separate occasions. They were always casual, unexpected, and brief. It seemed he really was trying to respect the boundaries between them, and she definitely appreciated the effort. She knew from experience that restraint didn't come easily for men like him.<em>

_Slowly but surely, she stopped mentioning the encounters to Cal. She didn't see the point, really – Cal would always be defensive and suspicious, and she would always end up making excuses for Jack, rationalizing that he was just being polite, or that they ran in similar circles, or that she really wasn't bothered by any of it._

_Most of those sentiments were true, after all. She still thought Rader was harmless, if a bit persistent, but she chalked his attention up to nothing more than harmless networking with a bit of innocent flirting thrown in for good measure. She saw no need to bother Cal with the details of their conversations. She didn't need a babysitter, or a watch dog, and instinct told her that Cal would try to fill both of those roles whether he needed to or not._

_It was all part of that protective jealousy thing that managed to both annoy and flatter her. Some days, annoyance won… it depended on what mood she was in at the time._

_As soon as Dave came into the picture, Rader practically fell off the map. No chance encounters at the market, or the coffee shop, or the dry cleaners. Not a single word. And because she was distracted and happy with Dave, she didn't give the matter another thought. She and Jack weren't friends after all. They were… business acquaintances, at best. And even that much was probably stretching things._

_It wasn't until a few days after Dave left that Gillian Foster saw Jack Rader again. She was coming out of a café at the same exact moment that he was going in, and they almost literally ran into one another._

_Their conversation was nothing special… just a bunch of small talk and random pleasantries that really didn't amount to anything at all._

_But when Gillian tried to leave, his attitude shifted. Typical, smirking Jack was back and he looked her up and down again, just as he'd done that first night at the bar._

_Gillian felt a cold chill begin to creep up her arms, and she was suddenly reminded of her previous conversation with Cal._ 'As far as mind games and double crossing are concerned, that wanker is most certainly not harmless. Not at all.'

_In a flash he stepped toward her and she raised her hands to stop the advance. She wasn't scared, of course… just unnerved. Suspicious._

_"What happened to those boundaries, Jack?" she tried to joke, hoping it would shake him out of whatever mood had caused things to change._

_He shrugged one shoulder at her, seemingly disinterested. "Thought I might try pushing my luck for a change," he offered. And then when her eyes locked on his, he added – with just a hint of hatred lacing his voice at the use of the other man's name – "Lightman taught me well, Gillian."_

_Gillian tried her damndest not to react, because she knew it was expected. Her reaction, that is… it was what he was looking for when he leaned toward her. He wanted to push the "Lightman" button just to see what it would do to her. Would she be protective of Cal, or would she laugh it off and back away, reverting back to the easy banter that they'd started to develop._

_The clarity of hindsight kicked in, and Gillian realized that Cal had been one hundred percent right. Mind games were this bastard's forte._

_She didn't flinch. She didn't back away, didn't look away, didn't even blink for fear of letting him think he had the upper hand. Instead she slowed her breathing and looked him square in the eye. "Lightman's taught me well too, Mr. Rader," she offered. "And trust me… I never shy away from a challenge."_

_Within seconds, his attitude shifted again and he took one step backward. His look was practically a dare, but his tone didn't fully convey it. "Good to know."_

_Gillian frowned. She didn't buy the innocent act – not even for a second. "What exactly are you playing at, anyway?" she asked._

_Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled at her, as if he had his own private joke. "Nothing at all, love. I just think it's a shame."_

_The anger flared up in her again, understanding that his use of the term "love" was meant to be a slap at Cal. So when she spoke to him again, the words came out through slightly gritted teeth and her voice was laced with obvious contempt. "What's that?"_

_His triumphant grin told her that he'd enjoyed the reaction, and she immediately felt guilty for giving him the satisfaction._

_"The fact that we aren't colleagues. We'd make a hell of a team, Doctor Foster."_

_And with that, he turned and walked into the café, leaving her stewing and silent behind him._


	17. Chapter 17

"_Thank you, Heidi," she answered. And then before Cal could look away, or walk away, or form any other judgment of any kind, she couldn't help adding one last sentiment. "If Mr. Rader should happen to call again, please tell him to go straight to hell."_

_Cal grinned at that, completely pleased. Thinking he'd won, and that all was forgiven. But as soon as he took one step toward Gillian, she stiffened and headed for his door._

"_Gillian, I…" he tried. But this time, she wouldn't let him explain.  
><em>  
>"<em>And as far as I'm concerned, Cal… if you ever speak to me like that again, you can follow him there."<em>

* * *

><p>Fast forward nearly eight hours after Gillian stormed out of Cal's office, and he'd already sent six texts and left two voice messages. To put it mildly, he was a very difficult man to ignore; once he set his mind to something, he was extremely persistent. Combine that with Gillian's stubborn streak, and it made for one rather interesting evening.<p>

The first text came as she fought rush hour traffic on the way back to her apartment, but she didn't chance reading it until she was parked safely in her driveway. It was just four short words – Cal's attempt at humor. '_Heidi needs a raise_.'

Talk about an understatement. Of course the woman needed a raise – Gillian had been campaigning for that one for months now but Cal always shrugged it off. Only one possible thing could've prompted him to send that message, and Gillian almost grinned at the thought it. Almost. Leave it to Cal Lightman to find the value of an employee only after they'd told his archenemy to go straight to hell.

The next one arrived before she'd even had the chance to close the first message. '_A big one_.' She rolled her eyes and stopped just short of deleting the text. He was definitely fishing for a reaction from her… she just wasn't ready to give him one. She was still angry. And after the way he'd spoken to her that afternoon, it would take more than just a few lighthearted texts to smooth things over between them.

Gillian grabbed her bag, locked the car door behind her, and headed for the front door. Two steps away from it, the phone chimed in her hand – message number three. At this rate, she was likely to throw the damn thing across the yard before she made it inside.

'_She told that wanker to go straight to hell and didn't even bat an eye._ _Wish you could've heard it, Gill. Priceless. Can only imagine the look on his face!_'

This time she did grin – partly because it was priceless, and partly because she'd never been good at staying angry with Cal for very long. And for a few seconds, her fingers hovered over the keypad, anxious and poised to reply. She even got so far as to type out the first few letters, but on a whim she deleted them and exited the screen. Her stubborn streak was alive and well, and wasn't ready to forgive him yet. So she switched the phone to silent and shoved it back in her pocket.

They could talk later. They _would_ talk later. Right now, her priorities were comfortable clothing and a good meal. Preferably with something chocolate in it.

Just as she put the key into the lock, she felt the phone's vibration against her ribs. He was up to four now, and still counting. On a sigh, she shoved the door open with her shoulder, dropped her bag on the table in the foyer, and then pressed the button to enlarge the message. '_S'pose we could get her to do it again? Got a whole list of people she could practice on_.'

She let out a dry laugh without even realizing it. Because it was funny… she couldn't help herself. And then out of sheer habit, she rolled her eyes again and breathed a long sigh. Damn him, anyway – trying to mend fences with her even though he was probably still on the other side of town, holed up in his office with his feet propped on the desk and pouting. Or nursing a scotch. Or maybe both.

Gillian set the phone on the table next to her bag and jogged upstairs to change. She threw her hair into a stubby ponytail and grabbed her favorite comfy pants, a tank, and a light cardigan. Then she rinsed the makeup off her face and headed back down to the kitchen, already starting to feel more relaxed. As she reached the bottom step, the phone beeped at her, signaling a new voice mail. Cal, of course. She knew that much without looking.

'_It's me, Gill. No surprise there, yeah?_' She heard him give a nervous half laugh and then clear his throat, as if he were debating what to say next. One silent beat passed, and then another, and then he sighed into the receiver, suddenly sounding sad. '_Anyway_… _if it's not too late when you get this and you feel like talking, you know where to find me. Call anytime. I'll be here. Night, love_.'

She smiled sadly and then tucked the phone into the pocket of her sweater, wondering if that was as close to an apology as he was going to come. The optimistic part of her didn't want to care… the realistic part of her didn't want to settle for anything less.

* * *

><p>One plate of lasagna and one glass of wine later and Gillian was feeling far less stressed. All she wanted to do was get through the rest of the evening in peace, and then tackle tomorrow with a clear head. She and Cal would simply put their heads together and figure out how to deal with Jack Rader like mature, reasonable adults.<p>

Or at least they would _try_. Instinct told her that Cal was likely to go rogue and deal with everything on a much more personal level… one that still might involve his bruised fist and Jack's broken nose. She hoped it didn't come to that, though, because instinct also told her that it would only feed in to whatever half-assed plan Rader was trying to execute.

Gillian tipped back the last swallow of wine and placed the dishes in the sink. Just as she stepped away, she felt the phone's vibration in her pocket. It had been just shy of an hour now – for tonight at least, that was a new record. The screen indicated two new text and one new voice mail. Either he'd sent them within seconds of each other, or she'd missed one notification while she was eating dinner. The specifics didn't matter of course… she wouldn't have answered him anyway.

She wasn't trying to avoid him entirely, of course. And she wasn't trying to be cruel. But the simple fact was that anger was not an emotion that Cal Lightman wore well… he lashed out, favored the 'hurt them before they can hurt you' approach, and those horrible comments he'd hurled at her – that hateful comparison between Alec and Jack and the insinuation that she'd been sleeping with Rader during the entire time she'd been trying to grow closer to Cal – those still stung. Quite a lot. And until Cal could manage to utter a simple, adult apology, she wasn't interested in speaking with him. Not yet.

She opted for the voice mail first. It was much shorter than the last, and she easily caught the nervousness that he was trying to hide. "_It's me again, Gill. I just wanted to hear your voice. Hope to talk to you soon_."

Damn it, damn it, damn it – he wasn't playing fair. Her resolve was crumbling and she stopped just short of calling him, opting to read the texts instead.

They were both short and straightforward, just like the others. '_Hope you're not planning to avoid me forever_._ I would miss you_.'

And then another one, almost instantly. '_I do miss you, Gill. _ _And I'm sorry_.'

Gillian smiled, missing him too despite everything that happened between them earlier. Amazing what two little words could do. Her reply was almost as brief as his. '_Not forever," _she typed_. 'I'd miss you, too_.'

* * *

><p>It was nearly midnight when her doorbell rang. But instead of the normal tone, it made a loud, drawn out buzzing noise that sounded like someone pressed the button and refused to let it go for a good twenty seconds or so. It was a God awful sound – fingernails on a chalkboard didn't even come close – and if she hadn't still been awake, it would have scared the hell out of her.<p>

Fully irritated and more than a little bit jumpy, Gillian padded through her darkened living room and peered through the peephole. And then she giggled… she could see Cal standing there under the soft glow of the porch light, carrying what looked like a rather large brown grocery bag.

She flung the door open and gawked at him, felling her shoulders shake slightly as the giggles began to take over. "What'd you do – ring it with your shoulder?" she quipped. Then she leaned against the door frame to study him, one hand propped high on her hip.

Cal lowered the bag enough so that she could finally see his face. He was grinning at her, obviously pleased with himself. "Elbow," he answered, managing to wiggle it despite the load in his arms. "Sorry 'bout that, love. Didn't mean to startle you."

Finally getting herself under control, she smiled warmly at him and cocked her head toward the bag in his arms. "What's all that?" she asked. "Trying to bribe your way into my good graces, I assume?" Her tone was lighthearted and fun, and completely welcoming, despite the fact that it was such a late hour and they'd had such a shitty day together.

Shitty except for that kiss, of course. _That_ part had been pretty fantastic.

Just thinking about that part still made her blush, even so many hours later.

Cal cleared his throat loudly and smirked at her, and only _then_ did she realize that she must've drifted off for a second. "Something you'd like to share?" he teased.

Gillian blushed again. "Cute," she said sarcastically. Then she tried to divert his attention back to their current circumstances. "The bag?" she asked again. "Should I be worried?"

Cal pulled against the top edge of the sack, crumpling the paper so that he could peer inside. "Nah, it's nothing fancy," he shrugged. "I just grabbed the first few pints of chocolate ice cream I saw and tossed in some fudge sauce for good measure. Thought you might fancy splitting dessert with me."

Gillian grinned at him and stepped away from the door frame, finally allowing him to pass in front of her. By the time she re-locked the door, he'd already made it to the kitchen and was unpacking things into a little row on her counter. "But you hate chocolate," she called, hurrying to catch up with him.

Cal froze and looked up at her as if he hadn't thought of that before. When she smiled at him, he felt his expression mirror hers. "That's true," he admitted, pausing to study her reaction from across the room. "But I like you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Bit of fluffiness here, but there's arse kicking ahead. Promise. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

By late the next afternoon, Gillian was feeling almost back to normal. Thanks to her late night sundae session with Cal (and a second heartfelt apology he'd offered her just before leaving), things between them seemed to be healing nicely. There were still a lot of things to discuss, of course – that passionate kiss in the main lobby being one of them – but at least they were on the same side of the battle lines now. That was definitely a step in the right direction.

As for Jack Rader… Cal and Gillian had discussed it until well after midnight, but they'd finally decided to wait for him to make the next move. Anything else just made them feel like they were playing right into his hand.

Cal was convinced that the man wanted one of two things. He was either looking for a confrontation – from Cal in a physical, intimidating way, or from Gillian herself in an all-out verbal sparring match – or a shift in power, in which he could somehow convince Gillian to switch sides. Abandon her stake in the Lightman Group and her friendship with Cal, and come to work with him and his very slick, very refined corporate suits at the Rader Group (and maybe get in her pants in the process... Cal's words, not hers). No other explanation made sense to him.

Gillian had been content to let Cal do most of the talking – partly because his assumptions were spot on, and partly because she didn't feel like sharing all the little snarky comments that Jack had made. All the little snide, arrogant remarks that she'd somehow managed to brush off at the time. She was still kicking herself over ignoring his true intentions for so long… for letting herself be duped by his arrogance and false charm for even a single day, let alone several weeks. She _should've_ seen all of this coming a mile away. Cal had seen it – he'd tried to warn her, tried to get her to see the real Jack Rader, but she wouldn't listen.

There was an old saying her mother used to tell her all the time as a child… "If you won't listen, you'll have to learn." And boy, had she learned. The hard way.

Almost every single time she'd run into Jack, he'd made cutting, cruel remarks about Cal. Sure, the men hated each other, so to some degree that was expected. But over time, Jack began to attack Cal's character… imply that Gillian was somehow lowering herself by being around him.

He'd once mentioned the attempted truck bombing in front of the Treasury, but skewed the facts to make it sound like Cal behaved recklessly without any regard for the children that were holed up in the Group's office at the time. He'd known all about the water boarding and Cal's brush with death, but when Rader spoke about it, his focus was on the fact that Lightman had left himself vulnerable to attack, not the fact that his persistence had helped to catch a killer.

In Rader's mind, Cal Lightman was an intelligent scientist who was too blinded by his own talents to navigate a successful career without a few casualties along the way. And he'd insinuated more than once that Gillian was liable to become one of those casualties. That Lightman would be nowhere without her help… that she was underappreciated and over sexualized… that Cal only kept her around because she was easy on the eyes and easy to dangle in front of the unsuspecting male masses.

Over the course of a few short weeks, Jack Rader had insulted the older man's professional skills, his morals, and even his treatment of women – and he'd managed to do it in such a passive aggressive way that Gillian hadn't even realized what hit her until that damn candid photograph was literally handed to her on a silver platter.

_That_ was the tipping point. In more ways than one.

No more polite, refined Gillian Foster. If Jack Rader wanted a war, he was damn sure about to get one.

* * *

><p>"Jack Rader is waiting for you in the lobby, Foster. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Apparently, 'Go to hell' wasn't clear enough for him."<p>

Gillian was seated at her desk, engrossed in a case file, and she glanced up at Loker with a mixture of annoyance and amusement on her face. Their whole _'wait for him to make the next move plan'_ hadn't even taken twenty four hours…

She bit back a laugh, not entirely surprised. "Did Lightman see him?"

"Nope. He's reviewing footage in the lab. Told me not to bother him unless there was bloodshed or the building was on fire."

She quirked a brow and shifted backwards in her chair, crossing her arms in her lap. "Bloodshed, huh? With Rader here, that's a definite possibility."

"Wouldn't doubt it," Loker agreed, and then gestured down the hall to where the man was waiting. "Want me to stall him for you?"

Gillian shook her head. "No, it's fine. "I'd actually prefer to handle this one myself."

* * *

><p>Loker must've taken a shortcut through the back hallway, because by the time she'd caught up with him, he'd already led Jack away from the lobby and down a side corridor, near one of the sprinkler heads. It was odd positioning, to say the least, but he'd turned on the charm and got Rader talking about himself, so the man was distracted as they wandered and didn't seem to think anything of it at all.<p>

Gillian did, though. She just wasn't sure if it was Eli's idea or Cal's.

As she walked up to join them, she overheard Rader in full-on brag mode playing up the success of his last few cases to one very attentive Eli Loker. Attentive on the outside, of course. The look Eli shot her left no doubt that he was faking it.

When both men turned toward her, the comparison between the two was striking. Eli's face flashed relief, while Jack's flashed arousal that he didn't try to hide at all. He was his typically cocky self, possibly even more so now that he was on Lightman's turf.

"You're looking lovely as always, Gillian," Rader said in greeting as he squared his body up with hers and made a not so subtle show of looking her up and down.

Gillian scowled at him, thoroughly annoyed. "Save it Jack," she answered. "Lightman isn't here, and I'm not your territory to mark. Put it away already, okay?"

She took one final step and stood side by side with Loker, who chuckled and nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. "Good one," he said. Then sensing it was his cue to depart, he stepped away from them and gestured over his shoulder toward the lab. "I'll just be down the hall if you need anything, alright?"

Gillian nodded. "Thank you, Eli," she said. And then he was gone.

Jack was frowning when she finally turned her full attention toward him. "The attitude of your staff leaves a lot to be desired," he said. "Poor management, I imagine."

So much for turning on the charm – he was going straight for the passive-aggressive insults this time.

Gillian tapped one heeled foot impatiently and propped a hand on her hip as if she'd grown bored of him already. Which wasn't entirely true… she knew couldn't let her guard down for a second with this guy, but she also didn't want him to think he could wind her up that quickly, either.

"I guess he's just not ready to make a life change then, Jack," she said, sarcasm dripping from the words. "Poor recruitment on your part, I imagine."

Rader frowned instantly, not expecting her to have known about his conversation with Loker during the tainted blood case.

When he frowned and tried to respond, Gillian cut him off. "Either that, or Eli's just a really good bullshit detector who is fully aware of when he's being played."

Then she smirked while Rader stewed, and neither spoke again for several seconds. All around them, business continued as usual. Phones rang, people milled, time passed. And in the back of her mind, Gillian wondered what was happening down the hall in the lab.

* * *

><p>Cal's attention was jarred from the video feed he was analyzing, and he frowned up at Loker as he burst into the lab. "Oi! What the hell are you doing?" he grouched.<p>

Loker paid no attention to him. He busied himself at the screen next to Cal's and punched a few quick commands into the keypad. "Spying," he said nonchalantly, as if it should be obvious.

Cal frowned again and rolled backwards in his chair until he could peer around Loker's shoulder. A few more keys were clicked, and then Cal watched as an image of Gillian and Rader popped onto the screen.

"On Foster?"

"And company, yes," Loker answered. He didn't glance away from the screen. "I'm recording the whole thing. I didn't think this jackass would go for a formal run in the cube, so I decided this would be the next best thing."

"Foster tell you to do this?"

"Nope," Loker said. His eyes were still glued to the monitor as he worked. "This one was all mine."

Cal rolled his chair again, jockeying for a better vantage position. He grew silent for a few seconds as he watched Gillian on the screen, and finally grunted a noise that was half growl, half approval.

Loker glanced up as if he was expecting the worst, but Cal wasn't angry at all. Instead, he nodded appreciatively and pointed at the monitor. "Well done," he said, and then leaned forward on his elbows to watch.

Almost as an afterthought, Cal tried to make one request. He pointed to the keypad and made a circling gesture with his hand. "Just as a favor to me, s'pose you could hit that… "

Before he could finish, Loker tapped a button and smirked. "Already on it," he said. Then he copied Lightman's body language and leaned forward on his elbows to study the screen. "Foster'll kill you, though," he added.

Muffled cursing could be heard from down the hall a few seconds later as the sprinkler systems kicked in. Gillian's voice shrieked... Rader's swore.

Cal looked on, impressed. "Nah, this was all your idea, remember?" Then he gave a full-on laugh and settled back in his chair, just waiting for the fireworks to start.


	19. Chapter 19

The shrieking and swearing that erupted from the otherwise quiet corner of the building was enough to draw a crowd. Within seconds, a handful of Lightman Group staff members were gathered nearby, and Gillian watched as the initial panic and concern on their faces gave way to amusement. A few of them wound up giggling and trying to hide behind their hands. The rest just stared, not sure what to make of the entire scene.

While Jack fumed and swore, Gillian squinted and looked up to scan the ceiling. She was positive that the hidden camera was up there somewhere, and though she wasn't completely sure _who_ had turned on the waterworks, she was damned determined to find out. Logic told her it was probably Loker. History told her it was probably Cal.

Behind her, she could hear Ria's voice edge above the crowd, trying to disperse them. Then she heard the click of her heels as the younger woman approached, and Gillian couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed or thankful for the gesture. She didn't want Jack Rader incorrectly assuming that she needed someone else to fight her battles for her, or to manage her staff. And she definitely didn't want him thinking that he could intimidate her. She'd faced down criminals and terrorists and dozens of hostile clients throughout her career – one antagonistic narcissist in a wet suit didn't faze her much at all.

Ria stopped a few feet away from them, as if she was trying to decide whether or not to intrude. "Foster, is everything alright?" she asked.

Gillian nodded. Her composure was still completely in tact, despite the circumstances. "Everything's fine, Ria," she answered. "Mr. Rader and I were just having a… polite conversation."

Gillian's tone betrayed her, but Ria didn't press the issue. Instead, she turned her attention to Jack. Her eyes scanned over him, taking note of his angry scowl and his confrontational posture. While Gillian looked calm and collected (and only the tiniest bit embarrassed to have been the center of office gossip twice in two days), Jack looked downright furious. He looked like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

"_Fine_? Does this look fine to you?" he half-shouted at both of them. His tone was arrogance, laced with indignation.

When neither woman responded, he kept right on yelling. He started waving his hands over his suit, as if they couldn't figure out why he was upset. As if Gillian owed him some kind of apology. Which was asinine, really, since she'd been caught in the cold spray right along with him.

"I suppose this is the way you treat all of your associates, then – is that right, Gillian? Just another circus trick you learned from the Cal Lightman School of Negotiation?"

Gillian gaped at him, momentarily stunned by his level of hostility. She shouldn't have been surprised, though. Jack Rader hated Cal Lightman, both professionally and personally. Sure, part of it was probably just petty jealousy. But she suspected that a larger part of it stemmed from something personal that had happened between the two men – something that, for whatever reason, Cal still wouldn't share with her. Rader had been Cal's protégé – his understudy, of sorts. Ties like that didn't just sever on their own.

Ria cleared her throat, and the sound nudged Gillian into action. She eyed Jack just as Ria had done – scanned his features, from head to toe – and then when the entire picture came into focus, she smirked. Thirty seconds under a sprinkler head had turned the otherwise professionally polished man into a tantrum-throwing child. She'd never seen him this rattled.

Her smirk grew wider at the thought that maybe _now_ she could get somewhere with him – use his own anger against him and find out what all of this was really about. All the weeks of weird encounters… the unbalanced behavior… the excessive insults. Not to mention that disgusting photograph that he'd sent to her office. _Her office, for God's sake_. That was like whacking a hornet's nest with a baseball bat and not expecting to get stung.

Amused by her own analogy, Gillian finally found her voice. "Forgive my bluntness, Jack, but you are most certainly not my business associate, and we don't have anything to negotiate. Our professional lives do not overlap in any way, and I have no idea why you even came here today, other than to antagonize my staff."

And with that, she turned her attention back to Torres. "Everything is just fine, Ria. I appreciate your concern, but I have everything under control," she said. This time, it sounded genuine.

Ria nodded. "If you need anything, you know where to find me," she answered. Then she was gone.

Once she was completely out of sight, Jack took a deep, calming breath and came one step closer toward Gillian. He still left a respectable distance between them, but just barely. She could see that his mood was shifting once again. Less anger now – more ego.

"That one's loyal, isn't she?"

Gillian's hands were on her hips and she shifted impatiently. "Your point being…?"

Jack simply shrugged. "It must be nice, that's all. To have that kind of loyalty in your professional life."

The way he rolled the words around in his mouth told Gillian that he was trying to prove something – trying to bait her into an argument, just so that he could have the satisfaction of watching her sweat. She ignored it and decided to turn the tables on him.

"No camera today, Jack?"

He flinched at that, pulling his lips back and exposed his clenched teeth. She was definitely getting to him.

A tense beat passed between them, but Jack did not respond. "What's the problem – cat got your tongue? Finally get tired of the sound of your own voice?" Gillian mocked. She spoke to him with the same passive-aggressive, falsely polite tone she'd heard so many times from him. A taste of his own medicine.

Jack was staring at her with cold eyes – silent and brooding. She wasn't sure if the attitude was designed to intimidate her, or if he was just really that uncertain about what to say next.

"I'm impressed, Dr. Foster," he finally said. He paused for effect, but Gillian knew something else was coming.

"I'm impressed that you're still here with him. A man like Lightman? He's a hindrance. To your professional life, and your personal life."

Gillian shot daggers at him with her glare. She was growing angrier by the second, and doing her best to keep every reaction hidden.

For the most part, she was failing.

"How dare you presume to know anything about my personal life?" she spat.

Rader grinned at her, thinking that the balance of power between them had shifted. "So that's the one, is it?" he asked rhetorically. "It's your personal life you feel like defending, then – not your professional one."

Now it was Gillian's turn to stare. He'd tricked her, and she hadn't seen it coming at all. Hearing him insult Cal triggered her defensive instinct, and she didn't even think twice about an ulterior motive. But now she could see it plainly. The insults were just a means to an end – rattle her, and the truth might come out.

She wanted to throttle him.

Her eyes were locked on his, and her wrath was an even match for the smug arrogance that was now pouring out of him. Jack's body language practically dared her to speak, but she refused.

He began to cut the distance between them and approach her with measured, even steps. Slowly… calmly. It was obvious that he felt completely in control of the situation. The nagging little voice in the back of her mind began to speak up then, trying to warn her that maybe she _should_ back away. That a man who was able to manipulate his emotions this well was probably one to stay away from… that maybe she should just call security and see if they could drive home the whole _'go to hell'_ message he seemed intent to ignore.

But she didn't move.

Jack took one more step and stood within a foot of her. And it wasn't until the next step – when he stood mere inches from being pressed against her chest – that her gut instinct kicked in fully and tried to tell her to back away. She didn't think he would harm her physically, of course. But emotionally? That was right in his wheelhouse. _That_ was what he wanted. And on some levels, it was much more dangerous.

Every ounce of pride in Gillian's body balled up and tried to convince her to stand her ground and not allow herself to be intimidated by him. That stubborn pride warred with her better judgment.

Pride won.

A final half-step put him chest to chest with her – so close that the fabric of his shirt brushed against her clothing when he moved. And there was a light little glare in his eye that told her he thought he had every right to be there, invading her personal space. Owning it.

Jack bent at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to Gillian's. Her body tensed at the movement and he grinned, pleased to have caused the reaction. When he opened his mouth to speak, his warm breath brushed against her skin and she shuddered.

Rader felt it – she knew he did. And so he gave a slight laugh in reply; it was practically silent but spoke volumes about his character.

"One last question, Gillian," he said softly. Then he lowered his head a bit more, until his mouth hovered inches above her ear. "Think Lightman's enjoying the show?"


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone... this chapter was a struggle. Hopefully you will enjoy. More to come soon. As always, thanks so much for reading & reviewing - it is very much appreciated!**

* * *

><p>Cal wanted to kill him. Plain and simple, he wanted to put his hands around Jack Rader's arrogant throat and squeeze, until the wanker's eyes bulged and his face turned blue, and his body dropped unconscious to the floor in one big lifeless heap.<p>

The longer Jack spoke, the angrier Cal became, until he was positive he probably looked like a damned cartoon – complete with a blood red face and steam shooting out of his ears. Restraint had never been his specialty. And when it came to another man showing interest in Gillian – especially if that other man was Jack Rader, and it was all part of some kind of personal attack laced with just enough sexual innuendo to make Cal loose almost all of his sanity – well, part of him felt he was deserving of sainthood just for letting the man continue to live.

He was trying to remain objective. Honestly, he was. He was sitting in that bloody uncomfortable chair in that infuriatingly quiet lab, listening to Loker chatter on and on about every single micro-expression that caught his eye, be they relevant or not. As if Cal couldn't see them for himself. As if he'd really be able to sit there and watch everything unfolding on that monitor and turn a blind eye to all the little tells that those two were broadcasting for anyone in the building to see. For everyone in the building to see.

They were small things at first. Take Gillian, for example. She was always the calm, collected one – didn't rattle easily, even under the worst circumstances. And for the first few times Cal heard her throw and insult or a smart assed comment at Rader, he grinned with pride, fully enjoying her ability to give as good as she was getting. She matched the plonker point for point, jab for jab, insult for passive-aggressive insult.

Gillian Foster never backed away from a challenge. Some people were naïve enough to think that she'd learned it from him, but Cal knew better. Gillian's strength was part of what drew them together in the first place. It was one of the things he'd long admired about her. One of the things that he loved.

"_Forgive my bluntness, Jack, but you are most certainly not my business associate, and we don't have anything to negotiate. Our professional lives do not overlap in any way, and I have no idea why you even came here today, other than to antagonize my staff."_

And that was it – that's when he saw it. That extra flash of fury that flared through Gillian when she spoke. The one that told him there was something else going on between those two. That expression was as close to hatred as he'd ever seen her come, and even though Jack Rader was a right bastard for spying on them, for sending that God awful photograph, and for trying to manipulate their trust in each other, Cal had a definite hunch that there was something _else_ that triggered it. Something much more personal.

"_Mark my words – that plonker is up to something."_

"_Maybe not. Maybe he just enjoys my company, and he finally decided to stop acting like overgrown little boy who likes antagonize me all the time." _

All of a sudden, Cal got the feeling that maybe Gillian hadn't been entirely truthful with him during these past few weeks. And that there was a distinct possibility that whatever she'd been keeping secret was the fuel behind her anger.

* * *

><p>"<em>That one's loyal, isn't she?"<em>

_Gillian's hands were on her hips and she shifted impatiently. "Your point being…?"_

_Jack simply shrugged. "It must be nice, that's all. To have that kind of loyalty in your professional life."_

Cal growled when he heard those words. An actual growl, muttered low in his throat. A warning sound, almost. As if Rader could actually hear him. Every time this idiot spoke to Gillian, something shifted. His emotions, his posture – even the distance between his body and hers. All of it looked calculated… designed to keep her on her toes and out of her comfort zone. On edge. Nervous.

"Deceit," Loker said. The sound surprised him, and when he turned toward Eli, he was pointing excitedly at the screen, making an obscure gesture around Rader's face. "Right there – did you see that?"

Cal frowned. Actually no, he hadn't seen it. Apparently, there really _was_ a first time for everything.

"Deceit," he repeated, as if testing the weight of the word in his mouth. Judging it. The concept fit Rader to a tee, but Cal didn't follow Loker's train of thought. "About what, exactly? Loyalty? He's feeding Foster his own opinion… what makes you think it's deceitful?"

"Because it's a loaded statement. It's subjective. He's predisposing her to what he _wants_ her to think… he wants her to think loyalty is important."

Cal huffed and sank further down into his chair, crossing his arms defensively. "You sound like a bloody shrink," he grumbled. "And Foster already knows that loyalty is important."

"True. But it's all in the framing, you know? This guy wants her to put her concept of loyalty in a new perspective. Weigh it against his terms. Judge it the way he is judging it."

"Oh really?" Cal mocked. "And how, pray tell, does Jack Rader judge loyalty?"

Loker shrugged and sank lower in his seat, mimicking Cal's posture. "You tell me," he answered. "You know that man better than any of us do. You worked with him – taught him most of what he knows about deception detection. I imagine that some of his opinions about professional loyalty might've come from straight from you."

'_Bloody hell_,' Cal thought.

Loyalty. _Professional _loyalty. It was like a switch had been flipped, and he understood the point Rader was trying to make. The point he was trying to get Gillian to make. Or rather, the information he was hoping she'd draw out of him, if he played his cards correctly.

It was one of the only thing's he'd kept from her after so many years together. (Aside from the fact that he loved her, of course… but their heated hallway confession slash make-out session practically shouted it aloud.)

"_What exactly happened between you and Rader?" she asked. _

_It wasn't the first time, of course. But it was the first time he'd ever considered telling her. 'Considered' being the key word. In the end, he kept the truth for himself._

"_I'd tell you, but you'd think I was lyin.'"_

This was not the way he wanted her to find out. Not in the middle of their office, in the middle of the work day, in the middle of two days' worth of manipulative bullshit served up by Jack Rader and handed to them on a silver platter. Not after that wonderfully bittersweet kiss and the level depth and honesty they'd put into their relationship in the past few weeks. Not after all of that. Not now.

He'd tell her, of course. But on his own terms, and not because he'd let Jack Rader back him into a corner.

Because he knew Loker was still waiting for some kind of reply, and because he desperately wanted to change the subject, Cal reverted back to two of his old standbys. Sarcasm and deflection. "Is there a point in there somewhere, Loker?"

Another shrug, this one more dismissive than the last. "I think I already made it."

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm impressed that you're still here with him. A man like Lightman? He's a hindrance. To your professional life, and your personal life." <em>

Cal growled and rose from his chair. His fists were clenched, his nostrils flared – he was literally seconds away from bursting out of the lab, down the hall, and putting his fist through Rader's face. And maybe his stomach, too, just for the hell of it. He took two steps towards the door, but the sound of Gillian's voice on the monitor stopped him cold.

"_How dare you presume to know anything about my personal life?" she spat._

She was so angry that she was almost trembling. Too many emotions held too close to the surface. She was as close to snapping as he was. And Rader either wanted that precise reaction, or he was too blind to see it. Cal cocked his head to the side, studying the screen, still debating whether or not to get all punchy with Jack's pompous face.

Rader grinned at her, and Cal felt his fury surge. _So that's the one, is it?" he asked rhetorically. "It's your personal life you feel like defending, then – not your professional one."_

He breathed in forced pants, like an angry bull. Around him, everything had gone silent. Gillian wasn't speaking, Loker wasn't rambling… there was no noise at all. And without making a conscious decision to do so, Cal turned and took three more steps towards the door.

He'd just reached out for the handle when Loker finally spoke up.

"You're just giving him exactly what he wants, you know."

Cal spun on his heel, taken aback by the comment. He squinted and took one step away from the door, studying Loker like a puzzle.

"If you go out there right now, then you're sending the message that Rader wants you to send. That you're impulsive and explosive and that you care more about settling a beef with him than acting like a respectable professional. That you don't trust Gillian to fight her own battles. That you're insecure and way too emotionally invested to remain rational."

Cal squinted harder and continued to approach, but he did not speak.

"Trust me on this one, Lightman. Sit. Watch. Trust Gillian. Let her fight this one herself. He won't hurt her – you know that yourself. He just wants to mess with both of you, and see what he can shake loose in the process."

More huffing ensued, and then Cal flung himself back into his chair. He was staring at Loker as if he had five heads – as if he'd gone from zero to full blown shrink mode in three seconds flat. Sarcasm was etched in his features when he spoke again. "You're over-thinking it just a tad there, Loker," he said. "I don't think Jack Rader gives a toss about anything right now except intimidating Gillian and making me look like a bloody fool. Wanker probably just wants to get in her pants."

Loker rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, silently laughing at Cal's expense. "Feel better?" he mocked. "Got all of that crap out of your system now?"

Cal didn't answer. He glared like hell, but nothing more.

"Just sit still and be quiet. I know that's not in your nature, but do it anyway. Give this idiot enough rope to hang himself."

When Cal grinned at the imagery, Loker started to relax. "So to speak, of course," he clarified.

"Pity. Imagine there's rope around here somewhere… maybe he'd go for it, yeah?"

* * *

><p>Cal shifted forward again and rested his chin on his elbows, completely fixated on the monitor. The longer he sat there, the more it seemed to draw him in; like the scene of a car accident that you can't help but study. You don't want to watch the fallout, but you can't quite look away, either. It was depressing and infuriating, all at the same time. Mostly infuriating, though. Depressing only in the thought that Gillian was the one taking the brunt of things, when logic told him that she wasn't the real target.<p>

He watched Jack Rader position himself firmly against Gillian, pressing into her personal space so tightly that his clothing rustled against hers when he moved. The sound of it was like nails on a chalkboard, and the video feed settings were sensitive enough that they picked up every single tiny sound.

He watched Gillian's posture tense, and he could easily see that she was uncomfortable with him being so close to her.

And then he watched Jack Rader sneer at her reaction – probably at the feel of the shudder that visibly ran through her.

He growled again, teeth fully exposed as he sprung back out of his seat and sprinted towards the door. He wasn't propelled by conscious thought now, just instinct. "I'm going to kill him."

Loker scoffed just as Cal reached for the handle. "You're a real idiot sometimes, you know that?"

Cal's head whipped around, stunned by the comment. Stunned that he'd had the balls enough to say it at all. "So I've been told," he dryly quipped, and then turned his attention back to the screen. "Foster has that effect on me."

Loker gave a disgusted sounding half-snort – a cross between a laugh and an exasperated sigh – and then shook his head at Cal. Judging him. "Looks like she has that effect on Rader, too."

Another growl, but his teeth weren't bared this time. "Oi!" Cal warned. "None of that, alright?"

Loker looked unapologetic. "It's just funny, that's all."

Cal glared. He was still standing next to the door and growing sick of listening to Loker's psychobabble. He reached for the handle again, and pulled it open. One foot made it over the threshold, but then he stopped and decided to take the bait. "Funny?" he said. His teeth were gritted, lips pulled back in a partial sneer. "How, exactly, do you find any of this… _funny_?"

Both men had turned their away attention from the monitor and were facing each other – with Cal on the defense, and Eli looking like he could burst out laughing at any second just from the irony of it all. When it started to look like Cal might start throwing punches, Eli finally _did_ laugh. Not the smartest move, of course, when faced with an angry Cal Lightman. But he did it anyway – a full-fledged, gut-busting, finger pointing laugh, taken directly at Cal's expense.

"Jesus, Lightman – get a mirror! You and Rader are both acting like fools. He's aggressive and domineering and doing everything he possibly can to get you to snap, and you're buying right into it. He's using your own personality against you. Pointing out every single one of your flaws to Gillian just to get a reaction. This guy knows you're watching him. He knows how you operate. Knows how you and Foster operate together. And you – the man who literally wrote the book on micro-expression and human behavior, and who can practically read minds just with his observation skills alone – are too caught up in how Gillian is reacting to everything to watch a damn thing that Rader is doing. If you just took your eyes off your girlfriend for two seconds and studied the jackass that's out there with her, maybe you'd figure this whole thing out."

Not many things in life ever made Cal speechless, but that certainly did. He'd expected an argument, not a lecture. And definitely not a lecture that was so dead-on correct in so many points. Loker was good – he was… insightful. He was bloody brilliant on most everything he said. Except the girlfriend part, of course. That was unnecessary.

Cal just stood there gaping at Loker, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Quite literally speechless. It was unsettling.

"Foster's a big girl. She's tough. And if she's tough enough to handle almost a full decade of working with you, then Jack Rader is in for a real wake-up call."

"Yeah?" Cal said. He meant it as a statement – an agreement with everything Loker said, but his voice came out sounding weak and high-pitched, making the word a question. Making it sound like he needed reassurance about Gillian's capabilities. Which he didn't, of course. He most definitely didn't.

Loker chuckled under his breath and pointed to the screen.

"She's as close to snapping as you are."

And that was when Rader said it. The five short words that were intended to provoke Cal. The five short words that were intended to send him into a jealous fit, just to prove a point.

"_Think Lightman's enjoying the show?"_

Seconds later, while both men watched that monitor with baited breath and Cal cursed his decision to remain in the lab, Gillian reared back and slapped Jack Rader across the face, as hard as she could.

A wake-up call, indeed.


	21. Chapter 21

Gillian flexed and curled her fingers and then shook her limp palm, trying to lessen the sting. She'd slapped him. _Hard_. Harder than she'd thought was even possible, and definitely harder than she'd ever slapped anyone else. Not that she'd slapped very many people, of course. Only Alec. And only once, when he'd been far too aggressive after a coke binge and she hadn't been able to stop him any other way.

She didn't seem to remember her hand hurting this much back then. There was already a wicked red welt swelling on Jack's face, but she didn't waste one single foolish thought on feeling sorry for what she'd done. Rader deserved it. If anything, Gillian thought she'd taken it easy on him. And if he didn't start backing away from her in the next few seconds, she was likely to do away with the slapping and move right on to kneeing him in a rather sensitive area.

Instinct told her she wouldn't feel a bit sorry for that gesture, either.

On the night Gillian slapped Alec, her actions had been all about protecting her own dignity – protecting her right to say no, even to her own husband. But this? _This_ was completely different. Jack Rader was one hundred percent sober, and he'd meant every snarky, egotistical word that spewed out of his mouth. His aggression had an ulterior motive. He'd _wanted_ to make her snap. He'd _wanted_ to provoke a reaction. He'd _wanted_ to see how far he could push her before she broke.

Or rather, how far he could push her before he _thought_ she would break. Because she didn't feel broken at all. She felt empowered. Wholly energized and confident. And fully aware that she had every right to slap him again because he _still_ hadn't moved away.

He was _still_ pressed against her, _still_ invading her space like a damned parasite. Every breath he took caused the fabric of his clothing to rustle against hers, and the sound of it – the barely audible scrape of his buttons against the front of her dress – was akin to nails on a chalkboard. She was literally seconds away from grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the wall when his eyes snapped back into focus across from her own.

"Gillian, I…"

"Save it." It was only two short words, but she spoke them with an intensity that could not be misinterpreted. "There is no explanation I want to hear, and no excuse you could possibly sell me, no matter how hard you try."

He sighed and she glared. When he made the mistake of trying to touch her shoulder, Gillian's arm blocked his attempt and her hand was instantly at the ready, prepared to strike his face again.

Only then did Jack's better judgment kick in and command his feet to move backwards, away from her. He did it as if there were some kind of weird time delay between his brain and his body – his movements were choppy and sluggish. One small step at first, then a second, and finally a third one when the new glare she threw at him made it clear that the distance between them still wasn't enough.

She could tell that Jack wanted to say something, but he didn't. He was silent. The only noise between was them that of his own footsteps as he moved away from her.

Jack held his hand against the side of his cheek and smoothed his fingers over the welted handprint she'd left there. He didn't look angry… he didn't look shocked… just stoic. Strangely calm and way too quiet. Almost eerily so. He was staring at her in a way that made Gillian feel a bit uneasy, despite the fact that he had moved back and was no longer pressed against her body. She wasn't sure if that feeling came from something she read from him, or because of the fact that her adrenaline level was finally starting to stabilize.

Either way, she was uncomfortable.

"You slapped me, Gillian," he said, stating the obvious. His tone was harsh, but the words sounded hollow. As if they were just a placeholder for something else he hadn't decided to follow through with yet. "A rather bold move, don't you think?"

Gillian was determined not to let him manipulate her emotions any longer, even if he tried. So she merely nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't push me, Jack. I'll gladly do it again. We both know you deserved it."

"Probably," he agreed. Then he flashed his trademark sneer. "I didn't expect a physical assault from you, though. From Lightman, maybe… but not from you."

Gillian stared daggers through him but otherwise kept her face neutral. In her periphery, she saw Cal step into view at the other end of the corridor.

"Lightman doesn't fight my battles," she said. Her voice was confident and strong, and the words were as much for Cal's benefit as they were a warning to Jack. "You've made the mistake of underestimating me, Jack. Don't do it again."

A beat later, Jack's gaze flowed over her frame, from head to toe. It lingered and leered and when he was finished, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and bounced forward on the balls of his feet. "Does that mean you think you can handle me, Doctor Foster? That you think we can go toe to toe without the infallible Cal Lightman there to bail you out? Because believe me, I'd be glad to arrange a… _trial run_ for you."

Again with the sexual innuendo – that was clearly Rader's comfort zone. Gillian almost laughed. She literally almost laughed in his face at the utterly chauvinistic way he was trying to intimidate her. "_Trying_" being the key word, because now that she saw him for what he was, she refused to give him that kind of control.

So she took one step forward, so that she began to creep into his personal space. Then she took another. When she took a third, Rader's eyes widened just slightly, and it was enough to kick her confidence up one more notch.

Gillian smiled smugly and then swept her gaze over him, head to toe, just as he'd done to her. When she was finished, Jack blinked a few times and then swallowed thickly. He was nervous – didn't seem to know how to take her now that she wasn't shrinking away from him.

Her eyes locked onto his as she leaned forward a bit, so that her reply was spoken closer to his ear. "I could bury you, Jack. Professionally… personally… intellectually. Just try me."

For several seconds, the two just stared at one another. In the end it was Jack who broke the stalemate. It was _Jack_ who stepped backwards away from her and began to study the floor at his feet. For that round at least, Gillian had won.

With the weight of Jack's eyes no longer on her, Gillian's attention shifted to Cal, who still stood at the other end of the hallway. He didn't speak to her, of course. Not with words. But the look that shone from his face as he watched her was undeniably distinct. It was pride – pure, uninhibited, and strong – and it was as clear as anything he'd ever let her read from him. And that single emotion, more than anything else, was what gave her the push to ask the next few questions.

"What was the point of all this, Jack? The photograph… all those _accidental_ meetings… all the innuendo and insults and total trash that you've been spewing around this office like it's all some kind of game to you. What exactly did you hope to gain?"

Gillian wasn't sure what she expected from him. The truth? Even a half truth? She wasn't even sure she could take any answer he gave at face value. She heard him give a long, deep sigh and for a split second, when he first glanced back up and locked his eyes onto hers, she thought he might actually answer her questions. That he might actually _attempt_ to give her an explanation, even if the details sounded sketchy.

But almost instantly, the look in his eyes turned cold and harsh. And then his posture changed again, making him seem almost menacing. He drew himself up to his full height, his chest puffed out, and his nostrils flared as his breathing became deep and regular. He was confident and arrogant, and he matched her newly found assertiveness to a tee. He was testing the notion that he shouldn't underestimate her. Practically daring her to slap him again.

Cal caught the change instantly, even though he didn't have the benefit of seeing Rader's expression. The change in his body language alone was enough of a warning, and Cal took a few long strides toward them. He didn't trust this guy at all, and he didn't want him anywhere near Gillian under normal circumstances, much less when he was angry and cornered.

Cal was silent as he approached. Gillian didn't hear the pulse of his shoes against the floor, or the sound of his rapid breathing – there was no noise at all. And if Jack sensed Cal's presence behind him, he didn't acknowledge it. He just kept right on sneering at Gillian – continuing his attempt to rattle her again. Push her to act out… to yell at him, or slap him, or worse. The distance he'd created between them a few moments ago started to shrink again as he began to move back into her space.

"I asked you a question," Gillian warned, hoping the sound of her voice would stop him from moving forward any further. "What exactly did you hope to gain from all of this?"

And then as casually as could be, Jack shrugged and gave a one word answer that she did not expect. "You."

From behind Jack, Gillian caught a glimpse of Cal's reaction. His hands were balled into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his arms began to tremble. And while he fumed silently, Gillian's jaw dropped open in disbelief over Jack's answer. "You wanted… _me_?" she said. Her tone was sheer repulsion. "In what sense?"

Jack grinned and gave a snide little laugh. He was still moving forward – one more step, and he would be pressed against her again, chest to chest. He had no idea that Cal was poised behind him, mirroring his movements. He had no idea that with one wrong move – hell, with one wrong word – Cal could literally reach out and grab him by the scruff of the neck and use his face like a battered old punching bag. Cal was relying on the element of surprise, and Rader was too caught up in Gillian to even think that it might be an option.

"In the professional sense, of course," he finally answered. Then his gaze zeroed in on Gillian's cleavage and lingered there for a long moment before he managed to continue. "Although… it would be _extremely_ enjoyable to mix business with your pleasure, Gillian. It would be extremely enjoyable, indeed."

Without a second thought and without any warning at all, Gillian reared back and slapped him again. _Hard_. As hard as all the strength in her body would allow, and enough to make her handprint appear on his face almost instantly.

She was completely disgusted.

Maybe Jack's attitude was all just for show – maybe it was just his attempt to prove to her that she couldn't rattle him, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe he sensed that Cal was standing right behind him, poised for a fight. Or maybe Rader really was nothing but a manipulative con artist who got off on making women feel sexualized and inferior.

Gillian's gut instinct told her it was probably a combination of all of those things, but she didn't much care. She was tired of analyzing him. Tired of wasting energy trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, and tired of wasting time with his games.

She just wanted him to be gone.

She wanted him as far away from the Lightman Group and as far away from their lives as he could go. He was a nuisance. A pest. A small, insecure man who didn't deserve the success he'd somehow managed to achieve.

She didn't even care about the answers anymore. They were just a formality.

Gillian sighed and then did something that neither man expected her to do. She turned away. She literally turned her back on Jack Rader even as he stood there, holding his stinging cheek and looking for a fight.

If he wanted a fight, Cal would gladly give it to him. She, on the other hand, was finished.

Gillian held her head high and quickly strode down the hallway, leaving Jack stuttering in her wake. After only the first few steps, he managed to compose his words enough to call out to her. "Gillian, don't you want me to…?"

_No. She didn't_. She didn't want anything from him, and she didn't turn around. When she finally neared the end of the hallway, his voice cut above the click of her heels insistently as he played his final card.

"Did Lightman ever tell you about my first case?"

Gillian stopped walking, but still did not turn around. She just stood there with her back to him, arguing with herself over what he was about to say.

"I'll take that as a '_no_,' then," he said sarcastically. "It's a shame, though. I imagine you might take a rather, shall we say, _personal_ interest in hearing the details. Especially since you know the client better than…well, probably better than you know Lightman himself."

She could practically hear Jack Rader smirking at her, and she fought every single urge to turn toward him and take the bait. Instead, she clenched her hands into fists and continued to walk away.

Just before she finally turned the corner, he called out with one last shot. "Professional loyalty is a valuable asset, Gillian. It isn't something that can be taught, and I don't believe it's something that a man can turn on and off at a whim. A man either has it, or he doesn't. Why don't you ask Lightman about it sometime, Doctor Foster. It would be interesting to see if he's managed to flip that switch after all these years."

* * *

><p>Minutes later, when the sound of Gillian's footsteps could no longer be heard in the distance, Jack Rader turned on his heel to leave and found Cal waiting for him, silent and brooding and ready to pounce.<p>

Jack gave a genuine flash of surprise, but a split second later it was gone. He didn't look intimidated, most likely because he had the size advantage over Cal. Height and youth were both working in his favor, and he knew it.

Truth be told, Rader actually seemed bothered by the whole thing. He seemed annoyed to find Cal standing there, blocking his path toward the exit. When Cal refused to move, Jack gave a tense laugh under his breath. "I suppose you're here to threaten me now, is that right?"

Cal gave a wolfish sneer, exposing his gritted teeth as he quickly approached the larger man. "You disappoint me, Rader," he spat. "You should've learned the answer to that question ages ago."

And then before Rader could answer – before he could spew any more manipulative, egotistical insults or petty innuendos, Cal got right up in his face and looked him dead in the eye. He was close enough that he could feel Jack's breath puff out of his nostrils and dissipate in the scant space between them. He could hear the tick of the younger man's watch and practically feel the tension that bounced off his coiled muscles. He was invading Jack's space, just as he'd watched Jack do to Gillian.

Cal was intimidating him. Studying him. Shifting the power balance between them so that it left little doubt as to which one of them held the upper hand. As if there had ever been any doubt.

Lightman held it - he always had.

The tiny little flicker of uncertainty that began to flash Rader's eyes was all Cal needed. Without another word, he grabbed the younger man by the collar and pulled, rough enough that the red silk tie Jack wore tightened against his throat from the firm pressure of Cal's hand.

When Jack's eyes widened in surprise, Cal sneered again and tightened his grip just the slightest bit more. And then he said it – the few short words that would make the man scurry out of the Lightman Group's offices like a wounded dog.

"I don't make threats, Rader. I make promises."


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: Just wanted to say thanks again for the support with this story. I appreciate all the reviews and comments! This chapter was another struggle... I think I wrote it 3 times and finally settled on this version. Hope none of you are getting too bored with me - after this chapter, things will be much more Callian filled and will probably wrap up after a few more entries. And now, on to chapter 22. :)**_

* * *

><p>Gillian took the long route around the perimeter of the building and made her way back toward the lab, doing her best to ignore the wide-eyed stares of each person she passed. Everyone meant well, but she didn't have enough patience left to bother with pleasantries. She was damp, frazzled, and tense, and she was definitely not in the mood for an audience.<p>

All of her senses felt on high alert – lights were too bright, noises were too loud, everything was just too… much. Too heavy. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of a dozen different things, not the least of which was that case Jack mentioned. His first case – the one in which she ought to have a 'personal interest.' The one in which professional loyalty apparently played such a big role. What the hell had he meant by all of that, anyway?

"_You know the client better than… well, probably better than you know Lightman himself."_

That didn't leave very many options.

A few steps later, while she was literally mid-stride and a mere ten feet away from the lab, it hit her. The name of Rader's first client… the reason why Cal had never told her about that case at all… the pieces all fell together like a jigsaw puzzle, and she felt dizzy. She felt like someone had sucker punched her in the stomach and she braced one hand against the wall to steady herself.

Gillian took several deep, cleansing breaths and managed to push her feelings aside. They would discuss it later – privately, along with everything else that was still hanging over their heads. It was a plan, at least. They had to start somewhere, and 'at the beginning' seemed as good a place as any.

* * *

><p>A few moments later, Gillian barged into the lab without any warning at all. She was aiming for a Lightman-style entrance – she wanted to get everyone's attention at once and let them know that <em>yes<em>, the situation with Jack Rader was under control, and _no_, she did not want to discuss it. Everyone had already seen (and heard) enough personal details about her life during the last few days, and she really wanted to keep the fallout to a minimum. Retain as much of her privacy as possible. Which was damned near impossible in an office full of deception experts and virtual mind readers, but still… she wouldn't be Gillian Foster if she didn't at least _try_ to draw the line.

Just as she'd expected, Loker and Torres were both sitting there glued to the monitor and pretty much oblivious to anything else. They were scrutinizing the video feed as if it were any other client on the other end of the lens – as if everything was 'business as usual,' and it was their job to pick everything apart, break it down into tiny segments, and analyze it frame by frame. Gillian felt a shiver. She could only imagine their reaction to what they'd read from her.

As soon as she came through the door, both of them turned to face her wearing matching expressions of both surprise and sympathy. The '_surprise'_ part was expected. The '_sympathy_' part was not – it made her realize that trying to draw a hard line between her professional life and her private life was probably not going to work this time. And truth be told, even if she did try to draw that line they would probably just read the truth from her anyway, just like they'd done with her reactions to that awful photograph.

Gillian sighed. Left with no other choice, she waved off their stares with a few swings of her hand and tried to re-group. For lack of anything else to say, she turned toward Loker and made the obvious comment. "The sprinklers," she said, smiling to herself when his eyes went wide. "That was very brave of you, Eli. Lightman has certainly taught you well."

And just like that, the awkward moment passed and everyone's attention turned back to the screen.

* * *

><p>Gillian was struck by the comparison between both men; while Cal looked furious and manic, Rader looked annoyed – as if a confrontation with Cal would be nothing but a giant waste of his time.<p>

"_I suppose you're here to threaten me now, is that right?" Rader asked._ There was laughter in his voice that was almost dangerous, but the man was too self-centered to have any clue how he came across to Cal.

As soon as she heard it, Torres shifted in her chair and scoffed. "What an idiot," she said.

Loker nodded. "Ten bucks says Lightman drops him. Knocks him out cold."

Gillian grinned at the comment, but no one noticed – their eyes were still glued to the screen, waiting to see what would happen next. Rader was sneering at Cal… mocking him. He was trying to use his larger size as an advantage because, really, that was the only one he had. Height, weight, and youth – nothing else.

They watched as Lightman advanced on the younger man with slow, measured steps. When Cal got within inches of Jack's face, Loker spoke up again. "Any takers, ladies? Ten bucks says he's about to do a little more than just threaten this guy."

She wasn't sure where it came from or why she said it in the first place, but from her place behind them, Gillian spoke up. "Cal doesn't make threats," she said. Her voice was calm and confident as both pairs of eyes turned toward her, and there was a tiny little grin on her face that she couldn't seem to wipe away. "He makes promises."

A beat later Cal's voice echoed from the speakers and all three turned toward his image simultaneously. He was wide-eyed and furious, and practically nose to nose with the other man, speaking to him through exposed, gritted teeth. "_You disappoint me Rader_," he spat. "_You should've learned the answer to that question ages ago_."

The size difference between the two was striking, but what Cal lacked in height he more than made up for in speed. Before Jack even saw it coming, Cal grabbed him by the throat and began walking him toward the front door without ever loosening his grip.

All three of them let out a collective gasp and leaned closer to the screen. They were watching… waiting… trying to decide if someone ought to go out there and stop Lightman from choking the life right out of this guy, or let it play out and see how far he would take it.

Ever the smart ass, Loker was first one to actually speak up. He turned to Gillian with a somber expression but with a tiny, sarcastic grin that told her whatever he was about to say was anything but serious. "Want me to turn the sprinklers on them?" he deadpanned. "Could be worth a shot, right?"

Before she had the chance to say a single word, the movement on the monitor caught their attention again. Jack's face had turned as red as his tie and his hands clawed at Cal's fist as it continued to grip his throat. The more Jack protested, the more Cal squeezed, until finally he leaned in close to the younger man's face and looked at him with utter disgust.

"_I don't make threats, Rader. I make promises."_

* * *

><p>Cal gave the man one last look and then dropped him – literally – beside the front door. Rader stumbled; he was bent at the waist, rubbing his throat with one hand and bracing his weight on the wall with the other.<p>

Minutes later, when his breathing had slowed and the color of his skin began returning to normal, he righted himself and watched Cal from a safe distance.

"You always were a man of violence, weren't you?" Rader asked. His voice was scratchy and weak, but his eyes still held the same piercing stare as they had before. "You've always been aggressive… territorial. Stems from your own insecurity, I imagine."

Cal did not respond. He just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists while he waited for Rader's twisted little punch line.

There was a curt, snorted sounding laugh as Jack continued – he was still fishing for a reaction, and Cal was still determined not to give one. "What would Foster think, anyway? If she knew the truth about that case? About the way you lied to her? That's nearly ten years of lies, Lightman. Think she'll just be able to forgive and forget? Turn a blind eye and pretend none of it ever happened?"

Cal's lip curled and he looked at Rader with utter disgust. "I don't expect her to pretend," he spat. "Just like I don't expect her to base our entire relationship on the details of one decade-old case. Unlike you, Gillian has the ability to move on. To see the bigger picture and not judge a man on the basis of singular action or a singular thought. She's a scientist who hasn't forgotten how to be human. And that's something I saw in her from day one."

When Cal was finished speaking, Jack grinned. It was a full, cheek-to-cheek smile that made Cal second guess his own words and wonder what it was that the man found so damned amusing. And then finally, when he was mere seconds away from grabbing the wanker by his throat again, it hit him. It was all in the word choice… not the comments he'd made, but the way he chose to make them.

_Relationship_… not partnership.

_Gillian_… not Foster.

_A man... _not someone.

… _Something I saw in her from day one. _

Jesus, he might as well have gotten a megaphone and blasted his feelings to the entire room – they were _that_ obvious. And he visibly cringed at the thought of what Rader would say next.

A few silent beats passed between them, and then Rader jumped in with both feet, taking full advantage of the opportunity that Cal hadn't meant to give. "And here I always thought you were married to your job," he quipped. "I always thought that you loved this science more than you loved anything else in this world, except maybe your daughter. But I was wrong. I spent way too long wondering why you would choose Foster over me. I spent way too long thinking it was some kind of professional slap in the face – that I wasn't good enough or wasn't ready to handle it on my own. I drove mysef crazy wondering what could have made you cut your losses when I was just a few months shy of such a major achievement in such a young career. And now I know. It was never about me, was it? It was never about my capabilities. It was never about the science at all. It was always her. Even from day one."

Cal fell silent. He'd allowed Jack to talk him into a corner – he'd gotten distracted and let his guard down just enough to let this plonker crack the surface on years of unspoken truths, some of which he had barely admitted to himself, let alone to an audience.

Satisfied that he had won, Jack took the final few steps toward the door and shoved it open with his shoulder. He gave one last look at Cal, subconsciously guarding his throat with one hand when Lightman approached him again. "Till next time then, Lightman?" he said sarcastically.

Cal nodded to himself, as if he was briefly lost in thought and weighing his options... still hoping to get the last word. Just as Jack started to step through the doorway, Cal grabbed him by the neck one last time and stopped the movement. His hand pressed just below the knot in Rader's tie. He gave just enough force to get his point across without actually choking off the man's airway.

"I meant what I said earlier, you know," Cal said. His voice was calm and collected, leaving no doubt that he meant every word. "I make promises, not threats. And I can promise you this, Mr. Rader. Mess with Foster again, and I won't play so nice next time. It would serve you well to remember that."


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, feedback, and support. This one is kicking my butt, but I promise I'll see it through to the end. :)**_

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><p>Cal paced in the lobby, staring out the front door for several minutes after Rader left. He was restless – anxious and jittery, and full of energy reserves that threatened to overtake his limbs and send him running through the building like a bloody fool. Lingering adrenaline, most likely. He didn't like the feeling at all.<p>

He had an overwhelming urge to hit something – the door, the wall, the front desk counter… anything. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because even though it might feel good to release a little tension that way, it wouldn't really change his situation at all. He still had to talk to Gillian… come clean about that case and figure out where they stood with each other. And no amount of procrastination in the world would help him now.

The way Cal saw it, he only had two options. He could lay his heart on the line and hope she didn't break it, or he could run. _Again_. Talk about a rock and a hard place.

"_It's you or no one, Gillian. That's the bloody truth and it always has been."_

With that realization, Cal finally stopped pacing and leaned one shoulder against the wall, defeated. Turns out those words had been true even from day one.

* * *

><p>Minutes later he was still standing there, completely caught up in his own thoughts and with no clear cut plan as to what to do next. He was too distracted to hear Gillian approaching from behind him. He didn't hear the measured click of her heels as she strode up and stood just inches away. But when he finally turned around to walk toward the lab, there she was, watching him with wide eyes and speaking his name on a whispered sigh.<p>

"Cal…"

It was both a question and a statement, and he wasn't sure how to answer either one. His heart jumped into his throat and his hands went cold, and somewhere in the midst of feeling like a total idiot at his lack of a coherent response, he realized that _she_ had come to _him_. _She_ had made the first move. _Gillian_ was the one standing there, looking at him with a beautiful vulnerability that seemed to reach right into his chest and tug at his heart – she was as nervous as he was.

Cal cleared his throat and swallowed, then shoved his hands in his pockets as a way to quell the urge to touch her. He knew he had to say _something_, so he blinked, took a deep breath, and dove in with both feet.

"How's your hand?" he tried, and then he winced at his own lame stupidity. After everything that the whole Rader fiasco unearthed, the best he could come up with was '_How's your hand?_' It made him feel ignorant, on a whole new level.

Gillian didn't seem to mind though. She smiled at him, wiggled her fingers in the air for illustration and then offered a warm reply. "It's fine. No damage at all. How's your fist?"

Cal withdrew his hands from his pockets and held them up so she could see his knuckles. "I didn't hit him, Gill," he said softly. "You know that, right? Much as I would've liked to, I didn't."

Gillian smiled again. It was the second time in as many minutes, and each time she did it Cal felt a little bit of his uncertainty fade away. "You did choke him pretty hard, though. I was watching."

As soon as she made the comment, she gave a third smile. And until she gave it, he wasn't quite sure if her words were meant to scold or to praise. But the smile made it obvious; she was proud of him.

Cal released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Suddenly things didn't seem so difficult anymore.

A beat later his decision was made. No more running. But just as he was about to tell her everything, Gillian took his hand and spoke up before he had the chance to begin. "We need to talk," she said.

There was fear behind her eyes when she spoke. It was faint and almost completely masked by a dozen other emotions, but he saw it easily and all he wanted to do was chase it away. "Gillian, I…" he tried.

She squeezed his hand, making a point to interrupt before he could finish the thought. "We need to talk, Cal, but first…"

Her voice broke, and on instinct he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Her eyes were downcast toward the floor self-consciously, so he ducked his head to get her attention. "Anything," he said. "No need to be nervous, love. Whatever it is, just ask."

Gillian sniffled and smiled again, and even though her eyes were watery and rimmed in red, Cal still thought the sight of it was beautiful. "Hug?" she breathed, turning the word into a question.

Cal twined his fingers with hers and pulled, folding her against his chest without a moment's hesitation. While her arms looped his neck and held on tightly, his wound around her back and stroked in soothing circles. She sighed against him, and the feeling of it – the feeling of her body melding right into his – was so relaxing that he closed his eyes and turned his face towards her ear.

"Just for the record, Gill, you never have to ask that question again, because the answer will always be yes."

As soon as he said it, Gillian made a noise that was half laugh, half broken cry, and a few seconds later it occurred to him that he was making the same sound. It was relief. Complete and utter relief.

When his hands had gone still against her back, and hers relaxed their hold on his neck, Cal eased his grip on her body and gave her space to step away. As soon as she did, he wanted to pull her in again. Hold her. Comfort her. Anything, as long as it was with her.

Gillian brought her hands to frame his face and stroked her fingertips over the rough, stubbly skin along his jaw. She was looking at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to decide what came next.

Cal took a deep breath, held it, and then spoke two words as it was released. "I want…"

Her expression shifted slightly and she pressed a single finger against his lips. "I know," she answered.

And in that moment, those four words were enough.


	24. Chapter 24

Gillian was nervous. _Exceptionally nervous_, to the point that her hands were literally shaking as she brushed through her hair. The sight of it in the mirror only called her attention to her feelings, which in turn made her even more nervous… and so on, and so on, like a dog chasing its tail. Experience told her that this was pure anxiety, in every sense of the word.

In the few hours since leaving the office, she'd tried all the tricks in her arsenal to try and help herself relax – deep breathing, a warm bath, even three different types of chocolate, but nothing worked at all. Cal was due any minute and she was battling sweaty palms, butterflies in her stomach, and fingertips that were as cold as ice cubes… she felt like a teenager waiting for her first date, and she didn't like it all.

The feeling, that is. Not the idea of a date with Cal. And her brain was being very specific about the difference.

She frowned, frustrated by her own incessant thoughts. It felt like a thousand voices in her head, all arguing and speaking at the same time, until it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but the noise of her own subconscious. The hug had triggered it. When she stepped out of his arms, she was left feeling raw and exposed and connected to him in a way she hadn't expected. It was… different. It was intimate. And just using that one word as a label for her feelings was a bigger step than she'd ever allowed herself to take with him before.

After staring at her reflection for what seemed like ages, Gillian gave herself a last minute once-over in front of a full length mirror and then headed downstairs to wait for Cal in the living room. And in the back of her mind, as she descended the stairs and nervously smoothed her hands over her sweater, Gillian wondered if Cal was panicking as much as she was.

* * *

><p>Cal was running late. Only ten minutes or so, but still… it was enough of a delay that if he hit too many red lights or got hung up in too much traffic, those ten minutes could easily turn into fifteen, maybe twenty. So he growled and let loose with a string of muffled profanities as he jockeyed for lane position in a small pack of other cars, which were no doubt doing the exact same thing.<p>

Frustrated, he cranked the volume on the stereo and began to drum his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the song that played. It was some kind of hard rock anthem – certainly not his usual style, but it was loud and up-tempo and just heavy enough to serve as a necessary distraction from the countless thoughts that were firing through his brain.

A few minutes later, when the traffic eased up just a bit and his anxiety level began to calm, he took a deep breath. '_It's just dinner with Gillian_,' he told himself. '_No need to panic_.'

That sentiment lasted only a split-second, though, before he decided that it was all total nonsense, positive attitude be damned. This wasn't "_just_" dinner with Gillian, and he needed to fess up to the idea that yes, he was well and truly panicked.

Because it was dinner. With Gillian. At her invitation. Two days after he'd kissed her and stopped short of telling her verbatim that he was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, _in love_ with her. And if that weren't reason enough, it was merely a few short _hours_ after she found out the basic details of a case that, for all intents and purposes, he'd been lying to her about for the better part of a decade.

So yeah… well and truly panicked just about covered it.

* * *

><p>Gillian was perched on the edge of one couch cushion, arms and legs crossed impatiently as one foot bounced from side to side like a ping pong ball. Nervous tension, of course... she had loads of it.<p>

Part of the problem – aside from wondering what on Earth could be keeping Cal, and letting her imagination come up with a dozen possible answers – was the fact that she had nothing else to occupy her attention while she waited. Oh sure, she could have puttered around with straightening the house, or fussing with her hair, or changing her clothes (_again_), but for the most part everything was finished. And since Cal had volunteered to pick up dinner ("_No need to cook love, it's just one more distraction we don't need…"), _all that was left to do was sit. And wait. And try to relax.

"_Try_" being the key word. So far, she wasn't having much luck.

Cal had promised to be there right at seven (_even using the words 'on the nose' which she thought was both unnecessary and kind of sweet_), and when seven came and went, she'd started giving the mantle clock a death stare as if it had somehow malfunctioned and read her the incorrect time. Then she decided that it was a stupid clock, anyway, and that she should have thrown it out ages ago. It was a leftover from Alec's things that had somehow been forgotten during the move. And it was old and bulky, and apparently really awful at doing the one job it was built to do.

Five minutes later, she went for her cell phone. She checked the time first – comparing the digital reading to the one on the mantle clock only to find that they were a perfect match – and then flipped to the text message logs. She hadn't heard any notifications, but still… it was worth a look. Maybe he'd gotten caught up at the house, or with Emily, or with something completely unavoidable and was just running a few minutes late.

But just as she expected, there was no message.

_Yes_, of course she could call him. She knew that. But she didn't want to come off as obsessive or controlling or high-strung. A phone call or a text would probably seem too over dramatic. And so, for lack of anything else to do, she began to pace a thin pathway in the foyer. She alternated between glaring at that stupid mantle clock and fidgeting with her phone, trying to decide if she should go ahead and call.

He was ten minutes late now. Not bad, but still… definitely out of character. And she was starting to get worried.

* * *

><p>Cal rushed out of the restaurant, bags in hand and muttering under his breath about the massive line of customers that had been waiting ahead of him. On any other night there probably wouldn't have been any line at all; but Murphy's Law being what it was, he'd been held up by what he'd decided were the slowest group of people in the entire DC area. Seriously, paint probably dried faster than these wankers moved.<p>

He threw open the passenger door and settled the food on the seat, close enough that he could grab the bags if they started to slide. Which they probably would, considerng his luck. And as he hopped back in behind the wheel and started the engine, he looked down at the old leather messenger bag that was crumpled on the floorboards. Cal glared at it hatefully, as if it were the bag's fault that he was running late in the first place. Or rather, as if it were the _contents_ of that old bag that were the reason he was running late. Which they pretty much were, so the glare was warranted. Bloody file had taken ages to find, and even though he knew it was probably an idiotic move to bring it along, he ultimately decided that if he was going to come clean, the least he could do was tell her the whole story.

As he turned out of the parking lot and onto the street that would lead him to Gillian's, Cal caught a glimpse of the clock on his dashboard. So much for being only ten minutes late. Now he was looking at twenty… maybe more. She was probably starting to get worried.

Without another thought, Cal pulled out his cell phone and dialed Gillian's number. He didn't want her to worry and he didn't want her to be angry with him for being late. He wanted everything to go smoothly. At least, as smoothly as it could go, given the information that was contained in that file he'd decided to bring along. And as for that, well…he didn't dare to even try and predict her reaction. All he could do now was concentrate on damage control and hope that she didn't kill him when she found out the truth.

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><p><strong>AN: Next chapter coming in a few days, and I promise... the details of that infamous case will all come out soon. Thanks for reading! :)**


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: Just wanted to say that you guys are awesome! I think I replied to each of your reviews but I wanted to say another thank you here, because I appreciated the support / feedback more than you know. It means so much! And now, chapter 25. Enjoy!**_

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><p>Thirty minutes – that's how late he was running. Ten minutes had quickly snowballed into twenty, thanks to the delay at the restaurant, and then twenty easily snowballed into thirty thanks to the unpredictability of DC traffic. But when he called to warn her, Gillian was as gracious and pleasant as always (<em>especially considering that he had her dinner held hostage in his car<em>), and really didn't seem to mind at all.

That was his Gillian, alright – forgiving and gracious. He only hoped she'd still be in a forgiving mood after he told her the whole truth about that case.

Alright, fine… maybe he _was_ overeating. Because it wasn't like he'd told her continual lies about the bloody thing for the past ten years. It was more like he'd just… _omitted_ a bit of truth right at the beginning. Made a few secretive phone calls and a few well-placed fibs, and he'd just never found a reason to own up to it until now. Maybe the whole thing wouldn't turn out to be such a big deal after all.

Maybe she would just listen quietly, accept his explanation at face value, and not rip off his balls and try to feed them to him as an after dinner snack. Maybe she'd understand why he'd done it. Understand that he'd only been trying to protect her. Understand that _protecting her_ was a driving force behind most of the decisions he'd made since they met.

Cal sighed and thumped his head back against the seat rest as he drove. The nerves he'd been feeling earlier had now balled themselves up in his stomach and formed a heavy weight that was starting to make him feel nauseous. Not butterflies, exactly – it felt more like scorpions, all tangled tails and venom. And truth be told, it was really starting to piss him off because this night really _should b_e about so much more than lies and baggage and past grievances.

It should be about starting over. Taking a few steps forward. And as long as Gillian was willing to take them with him, then he'd just have to try and trust that she wouldn't duck and run because of a few lies he told just a few days after they first met.

Back when he only knew her as Dr. Gillian Foster – head shrink and confidante. Not Gillian, best friend with whom he'd fallen in love.

He remembered that first lie as easily as if he'd told it yesterday. Jack Rader had handed him the file, and as soon as Cal accepted it, a group of photos fell out. They were nothing special. A few candid shots taken at random holiday events, and a few portrait types – all just for reference, he assumed. But the one on the top of the pile caught his eye immediately. And after staring at it for several minutes, Rader couldn't help but ask the obvious question.

"_Do you know that guy, Dr. Lightman? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."_

Cal shook his head and tucked the photos back in the file, then shoved the whole package into one of the bottom drawers in his desk to be dealt with later. "_Never seen him before in my life."_

Amazing what one little fib could do.

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><p>Gillian was cradling her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear, counting the number of rings before Cal picked up. By the first ring, she decided she was an idiot for calling him back so quickly. The man was running late, and the last thing he probably wanted to hear was her nonsensical rambling about what she thought she heard in his voice. By the second ring, she closed her eyes in embarrassment and went back to pacing by the door. And by the third ring, she assumed that he was just irritated and was going to dodge her call. He was only a few minutes away, after all. And this could wait – and really, she was probably just being paranoid.<p>

But on the fourth ring he answered, and she didn't know whether to be relieved or even more embarrassed than she already was.

"Gill? Everything alright love?"

She nodded and shrugged, ignoring the fact that he couldn't see her. "It's silly," she offered, suddenly feeling way too self-conscious to mention anything.

"S'ok. I could use a little bit of silly right about now, so fire away."

Gillian sighed and leaned against the wall. "Truth?" she asked, not knowing how else to start.

"Always. You know that."

"Your voice," she tried. "When you ended the first call a minute ago, you sounded… weird."

Cal frowned. "Weird, how?"

"When you said, "_I'll see you soon_. It sounded… _off_. Like you were hesitant about something. Hesitant about coming here, or about having dinner with me, or… _something_. I'm not sure what."

Gillian sighed again, long and deep. A cleansing breath. And she closed her eyes as she waited for him to respond. But he didn't. Not a single word. She could hear his breathing – knew the line was still open and that he was still there listening to her, but he didn't answer at all. And so to fill the silence, Gillian started to ramble. She started rapid firing broken half-sentences that she hoped would somehow get her point across without making her sound like a paranoid fool.

"Listen, Cal, I just wanted you to know that it's alright if you don't want to… because the last thing I wanted to do was try and strong arm you into…and if you'd rather not…"

Laughter. She heard laughter. Soft, quiet, muffled laughter and then somewhere in the middle of it, she heard his voice again. "Are you bloody well finished now?"

Again she nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"Trust me, Gillian," he said, pulling a smile from her at the use of her full first name. "There is no where I'd rather be tonight than with you. And if I sounded… how did you put it? Off? Well, that's only because it's you. And it's me. And it's… _us_. And I don't want to do anything to screw it up, or disappoint you, or…"

Now it was her turn to laugh. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course."

Another moment of silence fell between them, but she didn't ramble this time. Instead she just listened to his breathing and gave him space to think.

"Gill?"

"Yes, Cal?"

"You trust me, don't you?" he asked.

"Always."

"Even when I screw up? Even when it might feel like I've hurt you? Do you trust me enough to know that I'd never hurt you on purpose?"

Gillian fell silent and crossed the room to sit on the couch again. She knew he was talking about that case. And now she knew that whatever she heard in his voice earlier – whatever hesitation and doubt she found there – had nothing to do with any doubts he had about her. The only thing he doubted was his ability to tell her about the past.

"Do you trust me, Gill?" he repeated.

And she answered without hesitation. "I trust you."

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><p>Cal pulled into Gillian's driveway feeling energized. That second phone call managed to chase away the last of his nerves, and now all he felt was excitement at the idea of spending the evening with her. They would have a good meal, maybe a few good drinks, and they would talk. About everything. The case, the kiss, the hug… everything. Feelings and lies and trust and truth. The whole nine yards. And he had no reason to doubt that it would all be okay, because she'd said it herself – she trusted him.<p>

That alone was reason enough to smile.

By the time Cal cut the engine, grabbed the leather bag off the floorboards, and loaded his arms with their dinner, Gillian was already leaning against the doorway waiting for him. She looked calm and settled – not nervous at all. Simply put, she looked beautiful.

"Need a hand?" she called. "Looks like you bought enough food to feed a small army."

Cal shook his head and nudged the car door closed with one foot, earning himself a smile in the process. "Nah, not a small army," he answered. "Just two people who haven't eaten a real meal all day and fancy the idea of leftovers. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," she agreed, smiling even wider at him as he finally stepped through the front door and maneuvered past her on his way to the kitchen. "Leftover Chinese food makes a fantastic midnight snack, and an even better breakfast."

Gillian followed along behind him, completely unaware of what she'd said – or rather, completely unaware of the way he'd _react_ to what she'd said. And when Cal stopped dead in his tracks a beat later, she nearly crashed right into his back.

"What the…?" she tried, but was interrupted by the smug, satisfied grin that was stretched across his face when he turned toward her. He looked every bit like the cat that ate the canary.

Cal waggled his eyebrows. "Aye, aye, love. Already talking about feeding me breakfast, yeah? Is that an invitation?"

Gillian's face flamed. She stuttered and spurted, trying to remove her foot from her mouth, and finally settled on an embarrassed sounding, "I didn't mean it like _that, _Cal."

"No?"

She shook her head. "Definitely no."

He had a one word answer. "Pity."

And then he turned away, leaving her slack jawed in his wake. "Better get used to it, Gill. Give me an inch and I'll take a mile."

She wandered through the kitchen doorway a moment later, just as he was laying out the containers of food and grabbing plates from one of the upper cabinets. She'd recovered by then, enough to hold her own with the flirting. "So it seems," she said. "But just for future reference? It's best not to flirt with a girl using inches as a reference point, unless you've got the ability to back it up."

Cal stumbled over that one, dropping a whole container of fried rice as he tried to pour some out onto a plate. Half hit the floor, and half hit the counter, and during the whole exchange Cal kept his eyes locked on her and away from the mess he'd just made. He just blinked mutely at her, half shocked that she'd been bold enough to make the comment.

Gillian merely giggled and then went to help him clean it up. "Something tells me this is going to be an interesting evening."


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback / reviews. It's much appreciated! **_

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><p>An hour later, when the spilled rice had been cleaned up and both of them were full to bursting with good food and warm conversation, Gillian took Cal's hand and led him away from the kitchen and into the living room. He followed along behind her, feeling much more relaxed than he had expected now that it was show time.<p>

She settled into the corner of the couch and looked up at him with an expect smile, waiting for him to take the seat beside her. When he didn't, she chanced a joke. "I won't bite, you know."

That did the trick and managed to spur him into action. Cal gave a slow, sly smile, and tossed himself onto the cushion beside her. His arm was flung over the back of the couch near her shoulder, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Again I say… _pity_."

Gillian laughed – a full, genuine laugh that started from her toes and spread out over every limb. She looked more peaceful than he'd seen her in ages.

"The fact that you find my flirting technique laughable doesn't bode well for the rest of our relationship, love. Might tend to hurt my feelings after a while," he teased. "Won't stop me, of course, but it might sting a bit."

When her laughter finally slowed, Gillian reached for his hand again. She held one of his in both of hers, and rubbed her fingers across the skin aimlessly, just happy to feel the connection. The longer they touched, the more serious the tone in the room became, until Gillian felt warm and hyper aware of every movement that either of them made. Every touch, every breath… everything. Which was a good thing, mostly, because she wasn't nervous or anxious about what was coming next.

She was ready to deal with it and move on, with him. Not beside him or behind him, but truly _with him_. _Connected_.

Gillian smiled and squeezed his hand, shifting her shoulders to bring her upper body closer to his. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked. She wanted to change the tone of the conversation and steer him toward the topic they both knew was looming, while still trying to keep everything as relaxed as possible. Their conversation had been light and fun and flirty during dinner, and though she knew it wouldn't stay like that all evening, she wanted to keep it as calm as she could. No accusations and no heated words. Just truth, plain and simple.

"You can ask me anything, Gill. Anything."

His sincerity made her smile. "Did you mean what you said earlier today? That you don't expect me to base our entire relationship on the outcome of one case?"

Cal sighed and nodded, but never took his eyes from hers. "'Course I did, love."

"I just wanted you to know that you were right, Cal. I won't do that. Whatever happened all those years ago – however you're involved in it, and whatever decisions you made that you're now second guessing just because Jack Rader's perspective is different from yours… all of _that_ doesn't have to change all of _this_." She gestured between their bodies to illustrate her point. "That case doesn't have to change what's happening with us, right now."

Cal considered this, and a moment later he gave a sigh of relief and reached for that old, battered leather bag. As he snapped the buckles open, he tossed a sideways glance at Gillian. "Best to start at the beginning then, yeah? Ten years is a lot of history to cover."

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><p>The file that Cal procured contained an initial assessment, some contact information, a few notes, and a handful of photographs – the barebones outline for what would have been Jack Rader's first solo case. All of the documents were held in a plain brown folder, with edges that were worn and tattered and showing obvious signs of having been leafed through numerous times throughout the years. And though there was no label, case number, or identifying name of any kind listed on the outside, there was little doubt as to what exactly it was.<p>

Gillian raised her brows and pointed. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked quietly. A hint of anxiety flashed across her face, and when Cal saw it, he felt a fresh wave of guilt over his decision to bring it along.

It was too late now, though. No turning back.

His throat had gone dry, and for a moment he thought about just holding onto it himself. Skimming through the information so that she caught the gist of everything, while keeping some of the messier details to himself. But then she looked at him with the softest, most trusting expression and he knew what he had to do. He needed to hand the bloody thing over, tell the story in his own words, and then just hope she'd let him stick around to help sweep up the mess he'd made.

"The file, Cal?" she prompted, because he still hadn't answered. "Is that what I think it is?"

"'Course," he answered as he held it out toward her. When she took it, his stomach jumped up into his throat and he made a face that bordered on pain. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Gillian put the documents in her lap but didn't make another move to touch them. Instead, she studied his face, letting her eyes flicker across the telltale signs of distress that pinged across his features. "I trust you, remember?" she said softly. "Whatever this is, it's time we finally dealt with it."

Cal, not knowing anything else he could say, made the only gesture that seemed fitting in the moment. He reached over and took her hand again, bringing it to rest atop his knee. And then as he opened his mouth to speak, Gillian laced her fingers through his and squeezed, reassuring him. _She_ was reassuring _him_. Which struck him as wrong, somehow, since he was the one holding all the answers and she was the one left in the dark. But at the same time, it was such a very 'Gillian' thing to do. To give comfort… even to people who had wronged her, when the situation allowed. She had such a big heart.

"_Gillian has the ability to move on. To see the bigger picture and not judge someone on the basis of singular action or a singular thought. She's a scientist who hasn't forgotten how to be human. And that's something I saw in her from day one."_

That summed it up quite nicely.

Cal rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. "You heard what I said, didn't you?" he asked. His voice was gravelly and rough, his accent thick. "When I told Rader that you were '_a scientist who_…"

"…_Hasn't forgotten how to be human_?" Gillian smiled and squeezed his hand. Nearly all of the anxiety he'd seen a moment ago was now gone. "Of course I did."

"Meant every word of it, love. Every single word." And then for good measure, and because Gillian was still smiling softly at him, he cleared his throat and added one last thought. "No more secrets, right Gill?"

Her smile grew just the slightest bit wider. "No more secrets."

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><p>"It was ages ago," Cal started. "Just a few weeks after you and I first met and months before the Group ever got off the ground. And if you can imagine, Jack Rader was even more of an arrogant arse back then. Wanker had a giant chip on his shoulder and a bone to pick with everyone. Thought he was the hottest thing to hit DC since the Kennedy era, and that everyone on the hill ought to bow down and kiss his bloody boots. It was right pathetic. And after weeks upon weeks of harassing me because I was probably one of the only men in Washington who wouldn't roll over and get out of his way, he just waltzed into my office one day and handed me a file."<p>

"This file," Gillian offered. She smoothed her hands over its edges, but otherwise kept herself entirely focused on Cal.

"That's the one," Cal agreed. "He just handed it off to me and stood there like a self-important fool, going on about how he was ready to have a go at one by himself, and he was tired of me making him feel underappreciated and unimportant. Tired of me making him feel like he was my errand boy."

Gillian's expression softened. "Sounds a bit like Loker, I think."

Cal scoffed. "Like Loker's evil twin, maybe. I mean, let's face it Gill, Eli Loker hasn't got a manipulative bone in his body."

"True, but did Jack have one back then? Back before this case, I mean?"

Cal nodded wildly. "I have no doubt at all that Jack Rader shot out of his mother's womb with his Jekyll and Hyde personality already well engrained in his little infant psyche. Manipulation is built right into that man's DNA – of that, I have no doubt."

"So then he was always… _like this_? Like he is now? Vindictive and self-serving and…"

"That and more, darling."

A beat passed between them, and then Gillian narrowed her eyes slightly. "You never trusted him, did you?" she asked. "Even on a professional level?"

"I've never trusted anyone, except you and Emily. On _any_ level, professional or otherwise."

Gillian blinked, completely caught off guard by Cal's intensity. It wasn't _what_ he'd said, but rather _how_ he said it that hit home for her. The words "_on any level_" suddenly left them open to possibilities they'd never discussed before. And in the back of her mind, she wondered if they were finally ready for a change.

She must've been staring at him unguarded, because before she realized what was happening, he gave a knowing smirk, patted one hand against her leg, and then said, "Pace yourself, Gill. You night feel differently about me after you hear the whole story."

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><p>Cal shifted sideways, so that his body was turned toward hers as much as the small couch would allow. Then he pointed to the file in her lap and did his best to pick up where he'd left off. "Rader tossed me that file and asked me to look it over for him; said he needed '<em>a colleague's<em> _professional opinion_.' Which went over about as well as a lead balloon, considering he was this little Ivy league shit who'd literally been dropped at my doorstep without any consultation or consideration at all, and he'd been stalking through the halls for weeks acting like he was better than everyone else just because his daddy probably had enough money to buy the entire DC metro area. I swear that silver spoon wasn't in his mouth. It was shoved so far up his…"

Despite the tension, Gillian giggled. She couldn't help herself – mental image, and all that. "You've gone off the rails there, Cal," she quipped.

He blinked at her, and then when his brain caught up to what his mouth had spoken, he grinned. "Right you are, love. Sorry 'bout that," he offered. The imagery _was_ a bit off the rails, as Gillian said, but it was downright fitting.

"_Anyway_," he continued, "I didn't appreciate the whole idea that _he_ – not even a full six months out of University – wanted me to provide "a colleague's professional opinion," seeing as how he was not my "colleague" and anything I had to say about a case in the field of study that I created, ought to damn well have been taken has fact, not opinion. It was like a bloody slap in the face, yeah? I mean, where did he get off thinking we were equals all of a sudden?"

Gillian nodded; she understood completely. It seemed that Cal and Jack Rader had mixed like oil and water, right from the beginning. "And so… _what_?" she prompted. "You threw the file back at him and told him to get lost?"

"Much as I would've liked to do that, no. I didn't. I decided to hear him out, under the assumption that once the little wanker was ready to fly on his own, he wouldn't be my problem any longer."

"That sounds sensible enough," she said, trying to be supportive.

"So as I opened the file, this small pile of photographs came spilling out onto the desk," he continued. "And I shuffled them up and just as I started thumbing through them, one shot in particular caught my eye."

Cal paused to clear his throat, suddenly finding his words stuck there. Every single sentence put him closer to the truth – the first and last name of that client, and all the emotional baggage that went right along with it. But for as much as he wanted to stop talking, he knew he couldn't. She was right. They'd agreed to have no more secrets between them, and ten years was far too long to keep this one.

"Cal…"

Gillian's voice was almost a squeak. A nervous sounding whisper that came out of nowhere and was in complete opposition to the reactions she'd had so far - like she either knew exactly what was coming next, or she was suddenly afraid to hear what he would say. She squeezed his hand again, and it was only _then_ that he realized she was still holding it, and that their fingers were still twined together on his knee. Only now she was squeezing harder, and then her other hand came up to rest on his _other_ knee, and then a second later she was gripping the skin there, like she was right on the edge of saying something but she was just waiting for someone to nudge her over the precipice.

"Gillian, are you…?"

Before he could finish the question, all the color drained from her face and she shook her head in an attempt to wave off his concern. "I'm fine," she lied. She was looking in his direction, stuttering as she spoke, but her eyes weren't focused on his face. She was _there_, but not completely. "I'm fine, I just…"

Cal shifted a bit closer to her and pulsed his hands against hers, trying to get her attention. "Gillian," he called. He spoke her full name softly in an attempt to calm her. "Gillian, you're not fine. You look like you've seen a ghost."

She cut him off again, tossing him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I didn't think this would be so hard, that's all. I mean, I knew it was coming, but now..."

There was something in her expression that gave him pause, and he didn't understand exactly what she meant. "What are you trying to say, love?"

Gillian sighed and blinked her eyes in a fast flutter which told him tears were probably close by. And then she sniffled, pulled her posture up as straight as it would go, and looked him dead in the eye. She was trying to be strong on the outside, while her insides were a quivering mess.

"I know what you saw in those photos, Cal," she said, as calmly as possible. "I know _who_ you saw."

Cal shook his head and stroked both thumbs across the back of her hands. There was no way she could've known. "I doubt that, love."

And then Gillian met his eyes with the most sincerely vulnerable expression he'd ever seen, and simply asked, "You saw me, didn't you?"

One heartbeat. And then another. For a full minute, that's all Cal could hear – the sound of his own pulse beating in his ears as he stared at her.

"You don't have to protect me anymore," she insisted. "I know Alec was the man who hired Jack Rader. He was the client, and he was the reason you got involved in this case."

Cal's answer was in his reaction, and as soon as Gillian saw it, she let out a shaky, accepting breath and glanced down to the spot on his knees where their hands were still joined. They were still laced together, tighter than a few moments before. It seemed a fitting metaphor for everything else, and without knowing exactly why she was doing it, she lifted one of his hands and kissed it.

It was an innocent gesture, but when she let him go a moment later, Cal's eyes were as big as saucers - he was completely surprised by what she'd done. He stroked the back of his knuckles along her jaw for a few seconds, then cupped his hand so that his thumb stroked soothing passes against her cheekbone. When he spoke again, his accent was thick and rough, and his voice had taken on a low timbre that emphasized the sincerity of his words.

"Alec Foster was the client, Gillian, but he wasn't the reason I got involved, love. You were."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Lots more details coming in chapter 27. Had to end it there, or this would've stretched out way too long. Thanks for reading!**_


	27. Chapter 27

**_A/N: Thanks for all the love with the last chapter guys, I appreciate it so very much! Here's chapter 27. Enjoy!_**

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><p><em>"Alec Foster was the client, Gillian, but he wasn't the reason I got involved, love. You were."<em>

Gillian's expression had gone blank. She blinked at him through watery eyes, and then dropped her gaze to study the way Cal's hand was still clasped between both of hers. Then she sighed and smoothed her fingers over his skin, pausing every now and then to give a small squeeze or random pat. It was all very casual (and Cal cursed himself for feeling anything but guilt in the moment), but _bloody hell_ was it distracting. It was comforting, and familiar, and so damn soothing that he felt a fresh wave of remorse for taking pleasure in it.

Truthfully, he wanted to kick himself. None of this was supposed to be about him. None of it was supposed to be about the way _Gillian_ was making _him_ feel. It was supposed to be about _her_ – about what he needed to do to make all of this easier for _her_. _She_ deserved the truth, and it was up to him to deliver it in a way that didn't crush her.

Refocusing, Cal brought his free hand to Gillian's shoulder and cupped it, rubbing his fingers lightly over the slope and then a bit higher, up the curve of her neck. He made gentle movements, just trying to ground her. Trying to make sure she understood that he was still there, willing to answer whatever questions she needed to ask. That there was no pressure, and no time limit. He would wait as long as it took until she was ready to discuss it.

Because he loved her.

He was putting that feeling in his touch, too – he just wasn't sure she recognized it as such.

Gillian gave a light little distracted moan and leaned into Cal's hand just hard enough to make his breath catch. When she heard the sound, she finally glanced up and focused on his face. Her eyes weren't watery anymore; there was no sign of tears, and no sign of sadness. Just disbelief.

She looked lost.

"I need to know what Alec hoped to gain from all of this," she said sadly. "I mean, I understand that drug addiction is a very difficult demon to battle, but I don't understand what drove him to contact your office in the first place. What was he trying to prove - how to lie to everyone about the state of his own sobriety? How to lie to me?"

_Jesus_. Cal felt sick. He had not seen that coming at all.

_Drug addiction_. _Sobriety_. Gillian didn't understand. She didn't see the whole picture, yet. She didn't realize that Alec's cocaine battle wasn't at the center of the storm at all. Not this time.

Cal cleared his throat and swallowed the taste of bile that was rising up the back of it. He looked her straight in the eye and decided to break the news as openly, yet gently, as possible. "Just to be clear, Gill, I want you to know that Alec phoned Rader directly. The request didn't go through my office at all; it was only brought to my attention _after_ the fact. After all the initial steps were taken, and Rader was just one meeting away of signing Alec as a client and going forward with this whole thing."

Gillian frowned. "So then… if Alec called Rader directly, that must mean they knew each other? As business acquaintances or something like that?"

Cal nodded. "That was my understanding, yes. Rader mentioned something about a potential client who chatted him up at a bar, complaining about everything under the sun – his home life, his colleagues, his career. And so Jack – being the snake that he is – decided to hand this guy a card and drop a few hints about how he could help. '_Root out the liars in your life_,' he said. Told me the guy bought it hook, line, and sinker, and by the end of happy hour, the guy was ready to sign on the dotted line and write him a check. A few days later, Rader brought me the file. He managed to take complete advantage of the situation and use Alec's words to try and line his own pockets."

She shook her head; the look on her face was pure repulsion. "What an asshole."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, love."

Gillian made a disgusted sounding noise, and then Cal felt one of her hands ball into a fist. The anger he'd been expecting all along was finally kicking in.

"If Jack Rader was really such an expert back then – as he obviously liked to _think_ he was – then he should've spotted Alec's drug addiction a mile away, right? And to take advantage of a man who was obviously dealing with a great deal of stress as a result of something like that, well… that's just low. Of course his home life and his career were going to suffer. That's how the cocaine works. It's like a sick, twisted cycle of denial, addiction, drama, and…"

Cal brought one hand to her shoulder again and squeezed, cutting her off before she could say anything else. He didn't have the heart to let her continue.

He let out one long, drawn out breath, and then spoke as tenderly as possible. "It wasn't the drugs, Gill."

Nothing. She said nothing – had literally no reaction at all - for a full two minutes. No words, no sound, no gestures. Nothing at all. She just sat there staring at him, blinking intermittently and letting her eyes flicker around his face. Cal was starting to wonder if she'd heard him at all, but then finally – just as he was about to repeat the sentence – he saw her mouth form into a tight, firm line, and then he felt her other hand ball into a fist to join the first, and then everything else about her reaction shifted into complete, barely contained fury.

"Tell me, Cal. Tell me the rest of it, and don't hold anything back."

The words were a demand, not a polite request, and Cal had to forcibly remind himself that _Alec_ was the target, here, not him. He swallowed – suddenly more nervous than he'd expected – and asked in a meek tone, "Where do you want me to start?"

Gillian shuffled backwards, sinking further into the arm of the couch and further away from his body in the process. Her arms were now crossed over her chest – fists still clenched tightly – and Cal recognized it instantly as a protective gesture. She was distancing herself. She needed the answers, but that didn't make it any less painful to hear the truth.

"Start at the beginning," she insisted. "I want to know the grounds of the case. If it wasn't the drugs, then what did he base it on? What suspicion could Alec possibly have had that would've driven him to hire a bastard like Jack Rader?"

_Bloody hell_. If Alec Foster had been in the room with them at that moment, Cal would've happily pummeled him, if for no other reason than putting _that_ _look_ on Gillian's face. _That_ look. The one that said she blamed herself, and that somehow she knew, without Cal having to say another word, _she just knew_ that it would all come full circle back to her. That in his own twisted, drug addicted brain, Alec Foster had wound up blaming her for whatever problems had been going on in his life at that time.

"I'm waiting, Cal," she insisted again when he still hadn't replied. "I want you to tell me exactly why my ex-husband tried to hire a deception expert to poke around in our private lives. I want the truth, and I want it now."

For a moment, Cal thought he might actually vomit. He didn't want to say the words. But one look into Gillian's angry, determined eyes told him the decision was out of his hands and that stalling would probably only make matters worse. And so with tone that conveyed exactly how much it pained him to tell her, he said, "Suspicion of infidelity, Gill. Those were the grounds. That's why he wanted to hire Rader. Because he thought that you were…"

He couldn't finish the sentence.

Gillian was instantly livid. She shot to her feet, red faced and shaking, and began pacing a few steps back and forth in front of the couch. "Infidelity?" she spat. The word tripped off her tongue like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Cal nodded glumly but did not speak.

"Unbelievable," Gillian spat again. Her arms were rigid against her sides, fists at the ready, and in that moment, Cal had visions of tracking Jack Rader down and doing very painful things to him. The specifics didn't matter at all; he just wanted the man to hurt.

He wanted Jack to hurt, and he wanted Gillian to smile again, and it was frustrating the hell out of him to realize that neither of those things were in his control. All he could do was sit there and wait for Gillian to fully react, or to ask him questions, or process this whole thing in whatever way she chose, and _then_ he could take action. _Then_ he could try and sweep up the pieces, and explain why he'd done what he'd done. Why he'd made the choice to interfere in the first place… to get involved in something that was absolutely none of his business.

"I want a name," she said bitterly.

The question caught him completely off guard, and Cal's head snapped up in surprise. "Excuse me?" he stammered.

"You heard me. I want the name of the person with whom Alec assumed I was having an affair."

Cal paled. She'd gone right for the jugular – right to the one question he was dreading the most. He took one look in her eyes, and the raw determination he found there pulled the words from his mouth faster than he expected. "It was me, Gill," he said softly. "Alec assumed that you and I were…"

He didn't finish. He didn't _want_ to finish. The implication alone had hurt her, and he didn't want to speak the rest of the words aloud.

Gillian's mouth dropped open and one hand shot behind her back to brace against the arm of the couch. She was stunned.

Slowly, she sank back down to the cushion and settled next to him. She swallowed and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips, to try and catch a few rogue tears that were starting to spill. "That was… that was… in the file?" she tried. "Your name specifically? His suspicion that you and I had… that _we_ had… slept together?"

Her words came out choppy and broken, and she looked somewhat ashamed of herself, which made no sense at all. Gillian had no reason to feel shame. She'd done nothing wrong, save for staying married to a right bastard like Alec Foster for far too long.

Cal stuffed down his own feelings of anger and guilt and shifted his body toward Gillian's once again. "No, love," he clarified. "Not my name specifically. On one report I'm listed as "an unknown psychological patient," and another just refers to "Patient X."

"Then what makes you so certain it was you?" she asked. Her tone was filled with genuine curiosity, and the anger she'd felt moments earlier was slowly dissipating with each word they spoke. "Without a name to go on, how can you assume that you…"

Cal covered her hand with his, and stroked his fingers over the smooth skin of her wrist. "He had copies of your appointment logs, Gill. The times that corresponded with my sessions are the ones noted. None of your other patients, love. Just mine. And that's how I knew."

Gillian wiped another tear, and the sight of it made Cal cringe. To hell with Rader – now he wanted to hunt Alec Foster down and hurt _him_.

"Let me get this straight," Gillian started. "You're telling me that Alec broke into my briefcase, rifled through my appointment records until he _thought_ he found something interesting, and then he jumped to infidelity straight from there? From a time stamp on an office ledger? That doesn't even make sense, Cal. It doesn't make any sense at all."

And once again, Cal felt sick. This went deeper than appointment logs and rifling through a briefcase, and when he told her the whole story – exactly how Alec Foster came to suspect that his wife was having an affair, and the fallout that came from that assumption – he _knew_ she would blame herself. He just knew it. And so his gut reaction was to lie; to sugarcoat the truth and put as much of a positive spin on it as he could creatively imagine.

But in the end, he didn't. He couldn't.

He wouldn't take the coward's way out.

"There was a phone cal, Gill, about a week before Rader brought me the file. Alec overheard the conversation, and that's what planted the seed that developed into this." Cal thumped his hand on the top of the file for emphasis. "This case is the result of that call. Of what Alec believed he heard."

Gillian's eyes went wide with recognition, which was surprising considering that this whole mess happened so many years ago. He hadn't expected her to remember it that easily.

"A phone call?" she repeated. Her tone made it sound like a question, but her mannerisms betrayed the truth. She knew exactly which phone call Cal meant. And if her guilty expression was anything to go by, then Gillian probably remembered just as much about the conversation as he did.

And Cal remembered every single word – both spoken and unspoken. From the way her voice sounded in his ear, to the whisper soft sound of her breath as his name left her lips. He remembered the way it felt to hear her say those words, how it felt to indulge them, if only for a few reckless moments.

He remembered everything.

On a whim, Cal touched his fingertips to Gillian's jaw, tipping her chin upward so that she met his eyes again. And then he smiled at her – a gentle, affectionate smile that was designed to tell her how much those words had meant to him. How much they _still_ meant to him. "Yes, love. A phone call," he finally answered. "And you and I both know exactly which one."


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Alright guys, here it is. The phone call. Also known as the longest chapter in the history of anything I've written in the the Callian fanfic world. Phew! This one was tough. Hope you all enjoy it.**_

_**Just another note: I wrote it as a flashback, because I thought it made much more sense to read / write it as present tense, instead of describing everything in past tense. That's just the way my mind wrapped around it. Thanks for reading! And as always, thanks for the feedback & support. It's always appreciated!**_

* * *

><p>"<em>This is my home number, Foster. There are a few… <em>changes_… I'd like to discuss with you. _Personal changes_. Ones that I hope will take our relationship to a whole different level."_

_The words themselves were rather innocent. But the way he'd said them? That was entirely different. It was flirtatious and coy, and so damned unexpected that her jaw literally dropped open in surprise._

_She'd nearly collapsed into her chair just from the implication alone._

_Cal Lightman's accent was a dangerous thing, especially when he tried to work it to his advantage. Which he did_ – often. _And he'd most definitely done it then, as he pushed the tattered paper into the palm of her hand and let his fingers curl around hers. As he looked into her eyes and, with the slightest hint of something forbidden dancing behind his smile, told her that he would see her soon._

_He was definitely dangerous._

_And now, a full twenty four hours later, rationalization was fast becoming her best friend. _

_Gillian had already run through every possible scenario at least a dozen times. She'd outlined every possible situation that would make it socially and morally acceptable for her to go ahead and make that phone call, and still be able to live with herself. _

_Sadly, it was a very short list._

_At the top of it was the simple fact that the entire thing could've all been nothing more than a big joke. Just one giant misunderstanding – an excuse for Lightman to stroke his own ego, and to prove to himself that even his own therapist couldn't resist his charms. That no woman could. That he was sexually desirable, under any circumstances._

_Second behind that (and last on her very short list) was the possibility that she could've misinterpreted his request. After all, it wasn't like she had a lot of practice making secretive phone calls with married men. Anything was possible. _

_Rationalization reared its ugly head again and reminded her that as long as things stayed… _conversational_… then it was all harmless. Platonic. Nothing to feel guilty about in any way._

_Nothing at all._

_Except for the fact that she already did feel guilty. She felt the seed of it, sitting heavy in her stomach and trying to warn her that she should probably stop this whole thing before it even got started. Before she allowed herself to fall headlong into feelings that she'd only dared entertain in her own mind. To speak them out loud would be utterly foolish._

_Because he was married. And she was married. And he was her patient. And she knew she was playing with fire._

_And all of that ought to have been more than enough to stop her._

_But it wasn't._

_It wasn't even close._

_And despite the fact that her gut reaction was screaming that she was about to fall off the edge of sanity, Gillian couldn't bring herself to care. All she felt was an undeniably selfish urge to do it anyway, just to satisfy her own itch._

_Alright, fine. In all fairness,_ 'itch' _was a pretty big understatement. Things had gone way past_ 'itch' _as soon as their first innocent hug lasted a few seconds too long and left her with an embarrassing trail of goose bumps up her arms, and a tell-tale blush that told Cal Lightman exactly what impact his embrace had made. Since then, her harmless 'itch' had morphed into something much closer to a craving – one that just kept growing stronger every single time he found a reason to touch her._

_God, that made her sound so desperate. _

_Which, in a way, she was. Desperate for a connection… a bond… a genuine friendship with someone who'd treat her as an equal, and not as someone who was just kept around for the sake of appearances. As awful as it sounded, the simple truth was that everything she wanted from Alec – everything she used to have with him – had fallen by the wayside and gotten lost in the mix of IVF treatments, and counseling sessions, and the daily struggle to make it in the cutthroat world of DC politics. Lately, it had all boiled down to one sordid, bitter truth: Alec's career first, Gillian's marriage second. _

_And all she knew was that Cal Lightman made her feel alive, appreciated, and respected. And more excited than she could remember feeling in years._

Years.

_Gillian gave a heavy, accepting sigh and reached for the phone. Guilt be damned. For once in her life, she was ready to embrace a little bit of reckless fun._

* * *

><p><em>Nausea kicked in after the first ring. After the second, her fingers started to squeeze a death grip on the back of the receiver, and she had a tiny, nagging thought that she should hang up while she still could. Before he answered, and before she said something she would probably regret.<em>

_But he answered on the third ring._

_Too late._

"_I didn't think you'd call, Foster," he said thickly. _

_Gillian wasn't sure what she expected from him in the way of a greeting, but that definitely wasn't it. So she stumbled a bit, suddenly unsure as to what she was supposed to say now that he'd actually begun the conversation. In her mind's eye, she could easily picture him sitting at home, feet propped up on a desk or a table, and wearing the same flirtatious smirk he'd worn in her office during their last few sessions. And she cursed herself for feeling flushed under the weight of his stare when he wasn't even in the same room with her, let alone the same part of town. _

_She took a deep breath to try and focus her thoughts, and did her best not to let him hear it through the receiver. And then she blushed. Again._

_It was apparently her body's natural reaction to him._

"_I wasn't sure you wanted me to call," she offered. As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like a complete fool. A guilty, awkward, fool. _

_The smile in Cal's voice was undeniable. "Normally when people exchange numbers, that's what they expect. A phone call, yeah? I wouldn't have given you my personal number if I didn't want you to use it."_

_She blushed even harder then, and the fact that she could hear him softly chuckling in the background did nothing to make her feel any better. _

_Through the receiver, she heard his breathing change and then he cleared his throat. "Cat got your tongue, love?" he prodded. "From my experience, conversations are more effective when at least two people participate. Care to try it? I promise I won't bite." _

_Gillian sighed loudly into his ear. She couldn't help herself. "Are you always like this in your off-time, Doctor Lightman?"_

"_Like what?" he asked. _

_He was still smiling __–__ she could hear it._

"_An incorrigible smart ass."_

_He laughed, full on. "So you've called to insult me, then? Trust me, I'm used to it __–__ get it quite a lot, actually." _

"_You don't say," she dead-panned._

_He ignored it._

"_I've been told my personality's a bit too… abrasive for some people. That I'm too honest. Too intimidating. That I make them nervous."_

_He gave a dramatic pause for impact, and while he did, Gillian had a fleeting thought that this whole thing had been a really bad idea. That she should just hang up the phone before the conversation went any farther off the rails, and before a bit of light hearted flirting turned into something decidedly… heavier. The last thing she needed was to be a sounding board for Cal Lightman's ego, or a notch in his bedpost._

_Given the tone of his voice so far, it sounded like either option was possible._

_But before she had the chance to interrupt, he plowed ahead unfazed._

"_But others find my confidence refreshing. Unconventionally attractive."_

_When he paused again, Gillian spoke up. "Are you through?" she tried._

_No. He wasn't. Not even close._

"_Sexy."_

_She rolled her eyes. He was insufferable. "I get the point, okay? You don't need to elaborate."_

"Stimulating."

_Uh-oh. Gillian's breath caught in her throat and she made this involuntary little gasp, which he undoubtedly heard. _

_He was good. He was _very_ good. And she was in big, big trouble._

"_Doctor Lightman…" she tried, making a point to be as professional as possible. "I really don't think we should be having this conversation." _

_The ball of guilt in the pit of her stomach was suddenly heavy again and was trying to claw its way out of her body by way of her throat, which had suddenly turned dry and scratchy. Maybe she hadn't misunderstood anything after all. Maybe he just wanted to toy with her a bit first, to keep her on her toes._

_He gave a low, gravelly laugh, and the raw sound of it made her shiver. "Is there a problem, Foster?" he started, feigning innocence. "Was it something I said? Because I thought we were on the same page here, but if you don't find me as stimulating as I find you, or if you aren't as intrigued as I am about what it might be like to make things between us be a bit more… _personal_, then this whole thing is probably a very bad idea."_

_Damn him, anyway. _

_Damn him for using a word like 'stimulating' to keep her on the hook. _Twice_. And with the way he rolled that word around in his mouth, letting it coat itself in the accent that he was making intentionally thick just to mess with her head, she could tell he knew exactly what he was doing._

_And curse all her practical sensibilities, it was working. She was interested._

_Gillian felt like the temperature in the room had shot up ten degrees in the last ten seconds. She fanned one hand in front of her face and glanced around her office like a guilt-ridden criminal, just waiting to be caught. And in that moment, she could not have spoken even if she'd tried. _

_Out of the blue, Cal laughed again, but the sound of it had shifted into a much lighter tone. It was smoother, and much more playful. Almost arrogant. She was instantly suspicious. _

_And he was definitely up to something._

"_Got your attention then, did I?" he said, still laughing. "Come on, Foster __–__ you can't blame a guy for trying. I had to test out that whole 'vocal expert' title you kept throwing around the other day. Had to see if I could make you squirm under the innuendo in my voice, or if you'd just let the implications slide away."_

_Squirm… slide… Jesus, he was maddening. Her face was flaming, her pulse was racing, and while her motor had been revved and running, there he sat having a joke at her expense. She wanted to reach through the phone and smack him. _

_Or kiss him. _

_Or maybe both._

_She was fuming. "Are you quite finished now, Lightman, or would you like to have another laugh at my expense?"_

"_Now, now, none of that hurt little girl business. Doesn't suit you, yeah? And if we're going to be working together, then it's time you started getting used to how I operate. Consider this our first business meeting. A dry run, if you will. A test. Just to see what the chemistry's like between us, outside of your office."_

_Gillian's mouth shot open __–__ a sarcastic reply on the tip of her tongue __–__ but then in a weird sort of delayed reaction, she slowly closed it and leaned back in her chair. Working together? Business meeting? Dry run? All of that came out of nowhere, and she didn't have the foggiest clue as to what he meant._

_Through the receiver, she heard his breathing change. "So we're back to the silent treatment, then," he said. "Is that your way of balancing out my __–__ what did you call it? Incorrigible smart assed-ness? Or have I honestly left you speechless? Because let me tell you, Foster, if I'd known it would be that easy, I would've started pulling at that thread from day one, just for the fun of it."_

_Gillian's brain felt like it was still on a time delay. While she'd been eaten away by guilt for a full day, all hot and bothered by a proposition from her infuriatingly charming patient – which, as it turns out, hadn't been a proposition at all – there he sat doing what, exactly? Trying to figure out a way to rope her into some kind of business arrangement?_

_It only took one final strain of muffled laughter to finally nudged her over the edge. As it turned out, the only thing she still needed to rationalize was the best way to strangle him, and where to hide the body._

"_What the hell is all of this, anyway? Some kind of joke?"_

_Gillian's voice came out much angrier than she'd expected, but once she'd spoken that way, it seemed to fit the moment. _

"_I assure you, love – it's not joke."_

_Again with the pet name. Jesus, she wanted to scream. "I don't want you to "_love_" me, Doctor Lightman."_

"_Well, I'll try, but I can't make any promises. Damned appealing, you are. Beauty and brains is a sexy combination on any woman, but it's even sexier on one who's a vocal expert with one leg up on understanding my science."_

_Wonderful. Now he was making fun of her. She felt like the biggest idiot in the world for thinking he had any romantic intentions toward her at all_.

_He was married. And she was married. And he was her patient. And now, with the benefit of hindsight kicking in, the boundaries around all of those circumstances seemed much more defined._

_Idiot was probably an understatement._

_Through the receiver, she heard his breathing change again and when he spoke, he was completely oblivious to her reaction. He must've taken her silence to mean that she was either flattered or amused, and not that she was busy plotting his death. _

"_So as far as I'm concerned, if we take your beauty and brains, my charm and my science, and add in the fact that you haven't tried to throw me out of your office or have me committed in the past month, then I'd say those are the building blocks for what promises to be one hell of a great partnership. What do you say, darling? Ready to give it a go?"_

_Building blocks? A partnership? _

_Darling?_

_Without another word, Gillian blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. "Go to hell, Doctor Lightman."_

_And then she hung up on him._

* * *

><p><em>He called back right away, but Gillian didn't answer. Instead, she let it ring until it kicked over to the machine, and then she braced herself for his half-hearted attempt at an apology.<em>

"_Okay, I deserved that," he said. "I really did. We got off on the wrong foot there, and I don't blame you at all. No hard feelings. You're forgiven, Foster."_

_She stared daggers through the phone, and fought the urge to throw the damned thing against the wall. What the hell was that, anyway? Some kind of backwards Lightman logic that only a crazy person could understand? She was positively fuming. And without another thought, she snatched the receiver from its dock and barked angrily into it. _

"I'm _forgiven, Doctor Lightman_? You _don't blame_ me? _No hard feelings? That's all a little bit backwards, don't you think?"_

_This guy was a real piece of work. A borderline narcissist with an ego the size of North America, and she was kicking herself for picking up the phone at all. _

"_Got you to answer, didn't I?" he gloated. "I'd say that's a step in the right direction."_

_Jesus, he was irritating. And she was rapidly losing what little bit of patience she still had. Despite the initial urges that pulled her to call him in the first place, she'd had more than her fill of sarcasm and dry wit for one evening. "Goodbye, Doctor Lightman," she said. "Don't call here again."_

_The receiver was halfway to the dock when she heard one loud, clear phrase ring through it and cut right to her gut. "Please don't hang up, Gillian. I can explain everything, if you'll just give me the chance."_

_Gillian._

_He called her Gillian._

_Not Foster, or love, or darling_. Just Gillian. _He was being genuine_.

_And with that, he got her attention. _

_Again._

* * *

><p><em>An hour and a thousand questions later, he still had her attention. As it turned out, Cal Lightman was quite the smooth talker when he wanted to be. And surprisingly enough, he had an answer for almost everything she asked. From where they would get the start-up cash, to how they would recruit clients… even how they would divide the work load. He'd thought of everything.<em>

_She was impressed._

_And as for the biggest question hanging over Gillian's head – the fact that Cal was still her patient? He had an answer for that one as well._

"_Simple, Foster. You're fired."_

_It was as easy as that. He wasn't fazed at all._

_Gillian was, though. As soon as she heard those words, it was like a switch had been flipped and part of the tension and guilt she'd been carrying around for hours just started to pour out of her, in the form of a soul-cleansing, shoulder shaking, honest to goodness fit of laughter. _

_It was one of those stress relieving, deep guttural laughs – the kind that started out light and low, and then gradually stretched upward until the sound of it radiated outward from every cell and every nerve ending in her body. _

_A bit immature, yes – but she couldn't help herself. It was as natural as the blushing had been earlier. _

_When it passed, Gillian dabbed at her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. In the background, Cal had grown quiet but she knew he was still there, and that he was probably trying to read her through the phone. She could practically hear him thinking._

_It was one of the many things about him that both unnerved and captivated her. _

_After a few minutes, when she'd started to grow paranoid that she might've hurt his feelings, he gave a sarcastic grunt and sighed heavily into the receiver. "Not even five minutes into this new relationship and you're already laughing at me. You're lucky I'm thick skinned, or I might've wound up firing you twice in one night."_

_Gillian smiled, pleased that they'd fallen back into easy banter. "And you're lucky I have a good sense of humor," she answered. "Otherwise I would've cut you off a long time ago._ 'You're fired' _isn't exactly the best way to win a girl's heart, you know."_

_Cal didn't miss a beat. "Aye, aye, love. If I'd realized your heart was up for grabs, I would've changed my negotiation tactics. I would've made this whole proposition quite a bit more…_ interesting. _And trust me, the sounds coming out of your mouth would've been nothing close to laughter at all."_

_So much for easy banter. Just like that, the current between them was charged again, and she was back to blushing furiously. _

_Gillian's heart was pounding in her ears, and that little nagging voice in the back of her mind had come alive again, trying to warn her that she was playing with fire. That they were both walking a very fine line, and the harder they pushed against its boundaries, the easier it would be to erase them completely. _

_She'd never met another man who could so seamlessly take her from irritation to arousal in mere seconds. Cal Lightman was a master at it, and he wasn't even trying._

_It was scary to think how much trouble she'd be in if he was; if he knew what kind of effect he was having on her. It was downright dangerous._

_And the fact that she was honestly considering going into business with him? Well, that was just plain crazy. And probably just as dangerous._

_If Cal noticed the tension between them, he didn't mention it. He just plowed ahead and turned the focus back to the business at hand. "So what do you say then, Foster? Are you in?"_

_She scoffed, not entirely surprised that he was trying to push her into a decision right away. That was Cal, alright. Pushy and arrogant, with just the right balance of charm to make it all tolerable. He was unique._

"_Rushing me isn't the wisest idea, you know," she warned. "This is a major decision. Do you really expect me to just throw away my whole career on a whim and hop on board with you just because you charmed me into it?"_

"_No, I don't expect it. But it would be nice. And I can turn on a bit of extra charm if it would help. If you think I'm bad now, just wait till you really see me in action."_

_Gillian gave a half-laugh, half-snort, but this time she managed not to blush. "You're impossible."_

"_Been called worse, love. Even by you."_

_She smiled again. "And you probably deserved it."_

"_Probably did. Probably still do." He paused for a bit, and she could tell he was collecting his thoughts – that he was choosing his words carefully. "And the last thing I deserve is for someone as reputable as you to sign on as my partner, but I'm asking anyway. And I'm very sincerely hoping that you'll say yes."_

_Gillian's breath caught in her throat. She'd never heard him speak that genuinely about anything._

"_Answer one question first," she tried. "And then I'll give you my answer."_

"_Anything, Gillian. You can ask me anything."_

_She took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the butterflies that were swarming in her stomach. "Why me?" she asked. "Out of all the scientists and experts you could possibly choose from, why ask me? We've known each other for barely a month now, Cal. Don't you think this is all happening a bit… fast?"_

_With those last few words, Gillian wasn't just talking about a possible business arrangement anymore, and she suspected he knew that. _

_His reply came quickly. "Simple, darling. I trust you. It's as easy as that. And just for the record, I felt it from day one."_

_There went her heart again, hammering away. She wondered if he was doing it on purpose. "The trust?" she squeaked, half-heartedly hoping that he meant something entirely different, despite the implications it would bring._

"_The trust," he echoed. "It was… immediate."_

_Gillian was torn. On paper, it was a crazy idea. To give up her established career and jump into a business venture with her former (her very newly former, at that) patient – a man that, as of yet, had no financial backing, no investors, no real estate space, no corporate plan, and no entrepreneurial experience at all. Sure, he talked a good game about how they would procure all of those things – and she had no specific reason to doubt him – but in reality, all he tangibly had was the science, and a desire to share it with the world._

_Now it was up to her to decide if trust alone was enough of a foundation. If trust alone made it all worth the risk. And if she took this leap, did she have enough faith in him to be sure he'd catch her on the way down?_

_Strangely enough, she did. _

_She'd already made her decision. _

"_Partners, huh?" she asked. _

"_That's right, Foster. Partners. Fifty, fifty." _

_She paused for a second, just to make him sweat – just as a bit of payback for all the teasing and innuendo. "Promise me one thing?"_

_Cal gave a relieved sounding laugh, and then a long, drawn out sigh. She could literally hear the tension leaving his body, and she could tell that he'd been fully expecting a rejection. "Anything, Foster," he breathed._

"_Don't ever fire me again."_

* * *

><p><em>A few hours later, long after their conversation had wound down and long after Alec Foster was supposed to have come home, Gillian paced her empty house in the dark. He'd never been this late before. Not once, in the entire time they'd been together. He'd always called. Always.<em>

_And for a long while, Gillian stared at the phone – hoping that if she concentrated on it long enough, it would actually ring._

_But it didn't._

_And so then she tried to make excuses; telling herself that he'd gotten hung up at a meeting, or stuck in traffic, or gone out with some colleagues just to blow off some steam. Anything, just to keep herself from admitting the truth. _

_But with every strained, stressful day that passed between them with little more than a few broken phone calls to keep them connected, that truth became more and more apparent._

_They were growing apart. _

_It started with the fertility treatments – when intimacy had become a chore, instead of a pleasure. And though he'd never admitted it aloud, Gillian suspected that he blamed her. It was a vicious cycle: infertility led to stress, stress led to fighting, fighting led him back to drugs, and drugs led to this. To her sitting in the dark, fighting back tears and trying to rationalize that she really wasn't as alone as she felt._

_She wondered if Alec would even care that only a few short hours ago, she'd actually considered having an…. _

_God, she still couldn't finish the thought. She felt completely pathetic. _

_And right then and there, she decided that Alec Foster didn't deserve any of her guilt. It wasn't worth it anymore. _

_The phone rang just as shestarted to climb the stairs. _

"_Speak of the devil…" she muttered under her breath as she made a grab for the receiver. She was in no mood for pleasantries, and in no mood for games. And whatever he wanted, it better begin with an apology. Anything else would only serve to piss her off even further._

"_I just wanted to apologize, Gillian."_

_Okay, that was strange. It was an apology alright, but it wasn't Alec's voice on the other end of the line. It was Cal's._

_It took her completely by surprise. "Cal?" she stumbled. "What's wrong?" _

_Because something was clearly wrong. He sounded depressed and anxious and so very much out of character that she immediately assumed there was a problem. Why else would he be calling so late?_

"_I owe you an apology," he continued. "A legitimate, proper apology."_

_Without realizing why she was doing it, Gillian turned and headed back into the living room. He sounded so strange. She had no idea what to make of it, but she was more than a little bit worried._

"_What on Earth for?" she asked. "You don't owe me anything."_

"_Yes I do," he insisted. "Bloody hell, love, you're a married woman. You're my friend. And now you're my partner. And I should never have spoken to you like that. I shouldn't have played you. You deserve better, and if we're really, truly going to make this work, then I don't want to start off by allowing you to think that any of this had anything to do with a purely physical attraction. Because it didn't. I asked you to be my partner because I trust you, and I truly believe that you're the best at what you do, and I think we could be great together. Professionally speaking, of course."_

_When he was finally finished, all of Cal's breath rushed out of his body in one massive stream. He sounded halfway relieved, and halfway afraid of what she would say next._

_It was unnerving._

_Gillian knew he was waiting for her to make the next move. That whatever she said would either make or break the path of the conversation – that she could either choose to turn it into a bonding experience, or try to brush it all off as a joke. _

_And for a few moments, she considered both options. But in the end, she took a deep breath, settled herself into the corner of the couch with her back to the front door, and tried to ignore everything except the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. _

"_Can I tell you something, Cal?" she asked. "Off the record?"_

_His voice was sincere and softly genuine. "Of course you can."_

_She gave long sigh, letting her courage gather at the base of her spine and travel its way throughout her body, and out her lungs. "It took me a very long time to work up the nerve to call you this evening. And when I did, the very last thing I expected was for you to ask me to be your business partner."_

_For a brief, awkward moment, Cal said nothing at all. Not a word, not a sound – nothing. And his silence was deafening. But finally, just when she was starting to get completely paranoid by his lack of reply, he finally answered. _

"_Yeah?" he said, sounding surprised as much by her honesty as by the words she'd chosen. "Then what did you think I wanted to…"_

_Cal didn't finish the thought. The rest of it died in the air between them, unspoken but perfectly clear._

"_And I just wanted to say that you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. If anything, I was the one who made assumptions here, not you. I was the one who spent the entire day wallowing in her own guilt. Trying to decide if you were really asking what I thought you were asking. And as it turns out, you weren't. How's that for a bit of irony?"_

_Somehow the tide between them had shifted in the past few seconds, and now Gillian sounded sad and out of character, while Cal was the one walking on eggshells around her. Trying to decide how to steer the conversation back on track, without brushing her off or making anything more awkward than it already was._

"_My turn, yeah?" he tried. And without giving her a chance to reply, he launched himself into a bit of a speech._

"_I'm only going to say this once, because once it's out there, it's permanent. And if we go poking at it, and messing with it, and trying to shape it into something that it can never be, then we're only going to torture ourselves. So here it is. Earlier, when I told you that I 'felt it from day one,' I wasn't just talking about trust."_

_Gillian let out a breath she hadn't meant to hold. Nervous tension, mixed with a faint trace of excitement. "You weren't?"_

"_You know I wasn't, love. We both know that there's something else between us. A spark. An understanding. And definitely trust. You get me, Gillian, in a way that no one else does. And it's scary as hell, because that's a powerful thing."_

_Gillian was practically shaking. Every practical sensibility in her body told her to shut up now, while she still could. That she needed to say good night and end the phone call before things went any further than they'd already gone. Before they got any further out of hand._

_But she didn't._

_Instead, she threw her better judgment aside and spoke from her heart. "Scary is an understatement, Cal. I'd say it's downright terrifying."_

"_Fair enough," he agreed. She could still hear him thinking… still trying to read her through the phone. "Because we both know that if the situation was different… if you weren't married, and if I hadn't been your patient…"_

_He let the thought hang between them, unfinished, hoping that she would find the right words for what he was trying to say._

_Gillian didn't hesitate at all. "Believe me, Cal. It already would have happened."_

_The sound that came out of his mouth was almost a groan. An honest to goodness groan, and it sounded so unintentionally sexy that she literally shivered at the sound of it. "And it would've been amazing, Gillian. Of that I have no doubt."_

_She smiled, and only then did she notice that she wasn't blushing at all. Not this time. _

"_Neither do I," she answered. "It would've been incredible."_


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: I just wanted to be sure you all know how much I appreciated the overwhelming response to the last chapter. Really, really incredible. You all made my week! Thanks so much!_**

**_This chapter deals more with "The Case," and all of that should tie together by the end of the next chapter. It's slowly coming to a resolution! Thank you all for sticking with me through this! :)_**

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><p><em>"A phone call?" she repeated. Her tone made it sound like a question, but her mannerisms betrayed the truth. She knew exactly which phone call Cal meant. And if her guilty expression was anything to go by, then Gillian probably remembered just as much about the conversation as he did.<em>

_And Cal remembered every single word __–__ both spoken and unspoken. From the way her voice sounded in his ear, to the whisper soft sound of her breath as his name left her lips. He remembered the way it felt to hear her say those words, how it felt to indulge them, if only for a few reckless moments._

_He remembered everything._

_On a whim, Cal touched his fingertips to Gillian's jaw, tipping her chin upward so that she met his eyes again. And then he smiled at her __–__ a gentle, affectionate smile that was designed to tell her how much those words had meant to him. How much they still meant to him. "Yes, love. A phone call," he finally answered. "And you and I both know exactly which one."_

* * *

><p>Gillian's face had gone pale. She kept her lips in a tight little line, and nodded her head repeatedly – as if she was either trying to process the whole idea, or trying to decide what she wanted to say next. When the nodding ceased, she covered Cal's hand with her own and lowered them both to her lap.<p>

"I remember," she murmured. Her eyes met his with a measure of fear, and then she tentatively asked, "Did anyone else overhear…?"

There was a heavy, poignant pause, and Gillian's eyes fell to their entwined hands. "Did Zoe?"

He squeezed her fingers. "No, love. No one else."

She nodded again, relieved, but still staring at her lap. It was as if a thousand different thoughts were swirling through her head in the shape of a funnel cloud, all chaotic and frenzied, and they'd gotten knotted together. There were so many questions to ask, and she had no idea where to begin because none of this made sense to her at all.

With a heavy sigh, Gillian chanced another glance at Cal. His eyes were tentative… concerned… and the longer she sat there holding his hand, the more irritated she became. Not at him, of course. At Alec.

"He never mentioned any of this," she tried. Her tone was confusion, not anger. She didn't understand why Alec had never confronted her about it. She didn't understand why – if her husband had truly suspected infidelity – there had been no angry accusations, or shouted insults, or even passive aggressive guilt. Apparently Alec had been willing to hire a human lie detector like Jack Rader to nose through their personal lives, but he hadn't been willing to discuss it with his own wife.

That, in a nutshell, was pathetic.

Gillian blinked and pulled herself up straighter in her seat. She squared her shoulders so that she faced Cal directly – so that there was less leaning into him, and more studying his reaction to what she was about to say. Yes, she was distancing herself, but it was done in the hope of gaining a clearer perspective rather than deliberately pulling away from him.

When she moved, Cal's face twisted like the distance pained him, but she held her ground. In that moment, irritation trumped sympathy.

"So let me get this straight," she tried again. She wanted to make sure she had all the bullet points straight in her own mind, before Cal told her anything new. Too much information rushing out of him at once would only confuse her further. "My husband heard me discussing what it would be like to sleep with another man. He heard me call that man by name – by _your_ name, Cal – and then say that falling into bed with you would've been "incredible." And then what? He just decided to sit back and keep his mouth shut, and just watch the two of us grow closer?"

Gillian was on a roll. The longer she spoke, the easier it became, and eventually the words just started pouring out of her with no real way to stop them. "There was never an argument, or an accusation, or _anything_ Cal. Not a single word. And so I'm supposed to believe that he just… what? _Gave up_? You honestly expect me to believe that Alec was two steps away from signing with a contract with Jack Rader and then… _nothing_? He just let it go? That's insane, Cal. And aside from all of that, he didn't even put your first name in the file. He referred to you as an 'unknown patient' when you weren't unknown at all. That doesn't sound like Alec Foster. I would've expected him to come out with guns blazing, ready to go to war if necessary. He would've done anything to avoid looking like a fool."

Cal felt sick. He felt physically ill at the thought of what he had to tell her next. About how he'd interfered in her marriage and crossed a line that should've never been crossed at all, given their circumstances. About how he'd taken it upon himself to ensure that Alec's little plan never saw the light of day. About how he'd had the chance to choose honesty – to be completely upfront with her back then, and tell her everything about that case – but instead, he'd taken the coward's way out just to protect his friendship and his budding business. And he'd lied his ass off, all in the name of protecting her.

He felt guilty as hell.

It was Gillian's completely trusting expression that finally did it... that finally cracked the shell and pulled the words from his mouth. She was holding his hand – stroking her fingers against his in the most deliciously distracting way – and watching him with big, soulful eyes that told him everything he wanted to know. _I'm listening. I'm waiting._

_I trust you._

And because there was no easy way to say it, he opted for a direct approach. Like ripping off a bandage in one strong pull… it might hurt like hell, but then they could deal with it and move on.

"Deep down, Alec Foster was far more devious than most people ever knew. He didn't give up, and he most certainly didn't just let it go, Gillian. Not even close."

Gillian gave a small gasp – almost inaudible, but the sound of it resonated with Cal. "Tell me?" she asked. "Please. I need to hear the whole story."

Cal sighed heavily, and rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "Alec didn't overhear our entire conversation, Gill," he began. "Only the end of it. He didn't know about our plans for the Group, and he had no idea that I was anything more a patient. And so that's the angle he wanted to play. He wanted to convince people that you abused your privileges as my therapist, and that _you'd_ been the one to seduce _me_. He wanted total humiliation, love. The bastard wanted to ruin your reputation and my marriage. And he knew that if he planted all of these seeds with Rader, and then used the appointment logs as proof to support his twisted little theory, then Jack would be more than willing to dig up the rest on his own."

Gillian was stunned. Her jaw had fallen open, and her face had gone pale. She just sat there staring at him with traces of tears in the corners of her eyes. It made him feel helpless.

The fact that Alec Foster was long gone from their lives did little to dull the pain she felt. It was part shock, and part gut wrenching disappointment to know that she'd spent so many years staying married to a man that, for all intents and purposes, had never trusted her at all. The simple truth was that their marriage had been crumbling long before Cal Lightman walked through her office door. And while Alec turned to cocaine to help him cope with everything, Gillian turned to the one person who had earned her trust when her own husband threw it away.

She turned to Cal, and apparently Alec saw it as nothing but a betrayal.

Before Gillian had a chance to say anything, Cal puffed out a surprised laugh as if he'd just seen something new. "It's ironic, really," he said. "Jack Rader is the one who convinced him to play nice for a while, just to see what else could be uncovered. He wanted Alec to go on about his business as if he didn't suspect a thing. But Alec, being the colossal idiot that he was, had no idea that once he'd gotten to Jack, I was just around the corner. Quite literally, _just around the corner_. All Alec needed to do was put my first name in those notes, and Jack Rader would've turned it all into the biggest DC scandal since Watergate, yeah?"

Gillian didn't look amused. She didn't smile, didn't laugh – she just slumped her shoulders dejectedly and closed her eyes. Cal fell silent then, and reached out to stroke her arm. One of his hands was still grasped in hers, but the other began stroking a soothing pass against her skin, between her wrist and her elbow. Slowly. Gently. Trying to soothe her.

It was definitely working.

For a few seconds, all thoughts of that tangled case flew out of her mind and all she could focus on was the press of his fingertips against her, and the way it felt to be sitting there with no line between them anymore.

It felt… surreal.

She looked up at him from beneath heavy lashes, momentarily distracted by the look in his eyes. She didn't speak until his hand stopped moving. And when she did, her voice was relaxed. As if he had all the time in the world to answer her questions and the last thing she wanted to do was rush him. "How do you know all of this, anyway?" she asked. "So many specific details… and I know you didn't get them from Jack Rader. It's not like the two of you traded notes around the water cooler or something. So out with it, Cal. What _aren't_ you telling me?"

He swallowed.

_Show time._

"Do you remember the first time you introduced me to Alec?"

"Of course I do," she answered. "After you'd charmed a room full of investors and gotten our start up money, you came over with a bottle of scotch and the most endearing smile I'd ever seen, and told me we needed to celebrate. And then you scooped me up in a bear hug and waltzed into my living room like you owned the place. I'll never forget the look on Alec's face when you shook his hand. He looked like he'd seen a ghost – he was all pale and clammy, and I swear I saw his hand shaking as he reached for yours."

Cal gave a proud smile and puffed out his chest at the memory. "It was. That bastard was shaking like a leaf."

Gillian smiled in return, and then she felt him begin to stroke her arm again. Soft, light touches… she wasn't sure he was aware of the movement at all. A long moment of silence fell between them, and then she watched his features morph into an emotion that she hadn't expected. Guilt. He was riddled with it.

"I lied to you, Gillian," he confessed. Then he watched her with a completely open expression, so that she could read the sincerity right on his face. So that she could read the truth, if she looked hard enough.

Slowly, the pieces fell together. The guilt. The lies. The reason he'd never told her about any of this until now – until Jack Rader forced his hand. And instead of feeling upset or angry, she felt a little tug in her heart at the thought of what it must've been like to keep so many secrets.

Gillian scooted closer to him, and let her hand drop to his thigh. She squeezed lightly, feeling the girth of the firm muscle beneath her fingers. He was tense… edgy. "That wasn't actually the first time you two met, was it?" she asked, already certain as to what his answer would be.

He shook his head. "No. It wasn't."

* * *

><p><em>Cal was unimpressed.<em>

_The tall, thin man that sat before him was nothing like he expected. In his mind's eye, Gillian's "type" would've been more… assertive. More confident. But this guy? He was weak. Pathetic. A master at putting on airs to distract from his own insecurity._

"_Listen Doctor Lightman, I appreciate your interest in this case, but really, I'm quite comfortable with…"_

_Cal smirked. Now they were getting somewhere. "Please call me Cal," he insisted. _

_Alec scrunched his face as if there were a bad odor in the room. "Cal," he repeated, weighing the name on his tongue. "That's an uncommon name. One doesn't hear it very often these days."_

"_That it is," Cal answered. "It's definitely unique, just like me."_

_The men regarded studied one another, but while Alec was full of irritation and impatience, Cal was calm as could be. It was all part of his game. Lay the ground work, let this guy figure it out for himself, and then go in for the kill. Figuratively, of course. _

_Gillian would probably frown on it if he strangled her husband, no matter how much of a bastard he was. _

_Once Alec had grown tired of the silence, he sighed and gestured toward the case file that was laid out on Cal's desk. "No disrespect intended, but I'd appreciate it if you got right to the point. You called me down here for a reason, and I made a point to rearrange my schedule to accommodate that request, but you know what they say… time is money."_

_Cal tossed out one more smirk – a wider one this time – and folded his hands in his lap. His eyes never left Alec's face, and he made no move toward that case file at all. In this situation, timing was everything and he wanted to make sure his cards were played correctly._

"_It's a funny thing about that name," he offered. And when Alec rolled his eyes, Cal made a point to slow the pace of conversation just to piss him off further. Just to prove a point. "I've accepted it now, but when I was a boy, I took quite a lot of rubbish over it. Loads of teasing… name calling. Things of that nature. It was quite sad, really."_

_Alec checked his watch, showing the older man that he was bored by the conversation and that his patience was wearing thing. "That must've been hard," he said generically. "Now if you'll forgive me_, Cal, _I really don't see how my case is_ _any of your business. We both know that Mr. Rader is more than capable of handling …_

_Once again, Cal interrupted. "My therapist tells me I have anger issues."_

_That got Alec's attention right away_. Cal. Therapist. _The light had come on, but the pieces hadn't quite come together yet. "Your therapist?" he tried. "I wouldn't have imagined that a man in your position would require those… services."_

_This time, Cal's smirk bared his teeth. Alec was baiting him – trying to get Cal to divulge personal details without having_ _to be asked outright. Kind of like a dare. Only this was the watered down, white bread version, and Cal happily accepted it. _

_Alec Foster had no idea who he was dealing with._

"_She's a wonderful woman," he offered. "And she's beautiful. Gorgeous, even. I've only been seeing her for about six weeks now, but she's become very… important in my life. And the sessions have been so effective. In my wildest imagination, I never would have expected a head shrink could make me feel so_… incredible."

_When he was finished, Cal sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of the desk, right on top of Alec Foster's case file. He'd loaded everything with innuendo on purpose, just to drive the message home. And it had certainly worked. The younger man's mouth dropped open in both shock and disgust, and his hands were balled into fists._

Checkmate.

"_It was you, wasn't it?" Alec spat. "I know it was, so don't you dare try to deny it."_

Bloody hell, this guy was slow. "_Wouldn't dream of it, mate_."

_Alec stood and slowly began to unbutton the cuffs of his starched, white dress shirt. Task accomplished, he rolled them up to his elbows, playing up each movement in an over exaggerated way that was designed to intimidate the older, shorter man. Then he walked around the corner of the desk, until he stood mere inches from where Cal still sat, lounging back in his fancy leather chair. Their posture and expressions were both polar opposites. While Alec was brooding and irate, Cal was cocky and calm. _

_So far, everything was going exactly as planned._

_Alec spoke slowly… in measured, even tones that spoke volumes about the level of anger he was trying to hide. Cal had made him feel foolish, and in Foster's eyes, that was worse than any infidelity could've possibly been. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with, Doctor Lightman? Any idea at all?"_

_Cal matched Alec's slow pace movement for movement. And when he rose from his chair, he was not at all intimidated by the younger man's height. He wasn't intimidated by anything. Cal stepped forward deliberately, until every step caused Alec to take one in the opposite direction, and within a few short paces, he'd backed the man all the way to the door. Alec might've had the size advantage, but nobody beat Cal Lightman when it came to intensity. Nobody._

_The words that came out of Cal's mouth were a threat, rather than a question. _"Do you?"

"_So this is all an intimidation tactic, then. Is that right? Is that what you wanted? To call me down here and try to threaten me into dropping the case? Do you honestly expect me just to stand idly by and watch you screw my wife?"_

_Cal gave a smug, amused grin. "Trust me, Mr. Foster," he said. "If I am ever given the opportunity to screw your wife, it's a safe assumption that neither one of us will want you there to watch."_

_On instinct, Alec drew his fist. He was inches away from connecting with Cal's gut when a quick, well-timed block stopped the attempt. Cal grasped Alec's wrist and squeezed as hard as he possibly could – hard enough to make the man grimace in pain. When he did, Cal couldn't resist twisting the proverbial knife. "And just for the record, I don't make threats. I make promises."_

_Moments later, Alec Foster took one final step backward and turned to leave the office. And as he went, Cal could not resist a few parting shots. _

"_Mark my words, Foster. Your marriage will end, probably one day very soon. But it won't be because I went about mucking it up. And it won't be because I jumped into bed with your wife. It'll be because you don't deserve her. Because one day very soon, she's finally going to wake up and realize what a lousy, lying plonker you are. That you're turning to drugs to solve your problems, and in the process turning away from the only good, stable thing in your life. Gillian Foster is amazing. In every possible way. And if you're too much of an idiot to see that for yourself, then that's your loss. You'll have no one to blame but yourself when she throws you out on your pathetic arse."_

"_Go to hell, Doctor Lightman." It was the only comeback Alec could manage. _

_In response, Cal played his final card. His expression turned cold and serious, leaving little doubt that he meant every single word that was about to come out of his mouth. "If I get even the tiniest suspicion that you're following through with this bullshit scheme, then I'll tell her everything. About how the drug use is even worse than she already suspects… about that little fling you had with your colleague that you think is such a big, bloody secret… _everything_. If you're stupid enough to try and hurt her, you'll answer to me. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"_

_And with that, Alec crumbled. There was no other word for it, really. Cal watched as all the anger drained out of him and left him an exhausted, hollow pile of raw fear. Fear for his own reputation, rather than the state of his marriage. Fear that everything he'd worked so hard to hide – most especially the spiraling drug addiction – would become public knowledge and ruin his entire career. _

_Finally, just before he tucked tail and scurried out of the building, Alec Foster nodded emphatically. "Perfectly clear."_


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: Many thanks again for the wonderful feedback - so sweet and supportive! **_

_**Not much left to touch on with "The Case," except a few loose ends that will be tied up in the next chapter. This one is all Callian. And yes, there will be more after this. Enjoy!**_

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><p>Gillian sat slack-jawed and wide eyed, staring at Cal with an expression that was half dumbfounded amusement, and half irritated shock. The entire story was just so… so…unbelievable. He'd lied to her – right from the beginning. He'd gone behind her back, intimidated her husband as a way of buying his silence, and then carried on as if everything between them was just business as usual for almost ten whole years.<p>

A full decade of deception, from the master himself.

And at the root of it all was Cal's intrinsic desire to protect her. It was shocking, really, to know that his feelings had run so deep so quickly. Friendship was one thing, but this? Their relationship? It had always been something… _more_. Something deeper. Even from day one.

She had no idea how he'd kept everything bottled up for so long. It was a wonder the man hadn't combusted from sheer frustration by now.

Lost in her own thoughts, Gillian hadn't realized quite how heavy the silence between them had become until she saw Cal's mouth tilt into a sad frown and his eyes go heavy with fatigue.

"If you want me to leave now, I'll understand."

Cal's voice was broken; completely hollow and filled with regret. And it took her by surprise; she'd rarely heard him speak that way. A shiver ran through her and she jolted, suddenly aware of how very badly this whole thing could turn.

He wasn't even looking at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed to an invisible spot on the upholstery between their bodies. She read 'controlled panic' all over his body language. Avoidance, too. But mostly guilt.

Cal Lightman, man of intense confidence and little fear, was reduced to a jumble of exposed nerves and a hangdog frown as he waited to hear her reaction. And it made her heart ache to see him so sad.

"Look at me, Cal," she began, not yet knowing exactly what she was going to say but completely certain that she needed to say _something_ to push them past this awkward crossroad. She made her voice was as calm and comforting as she possibly could, and yet he practically winced at the sound of her words.

He tilted his body further away from hers as he braced himself for rejection, and when his eyes finally met hers, she blanched. She saw so much worry. So much regret. As if he fully expected that she would send him straight out the door. No more conversation. No forgiveness.

No second chances.

Without a word, Gillian lifted one of his hands and folded it into both of hers. His skin was so warm… rough, and yet soft at the same time. It was quite fitting, actually. Like an honest representation of the man himself. Cal's brows furrowed at her touch and his body tensed – she knew he was bracing himself for what he'd already assumed was a foregone conclusion. Throwing his walls back up, one stubborn brick at a time. It had become an annoyingly familiar habit.

To break it, Gillian shifted forward until she and Cal sat practically nose to nose and the new position forced her to lift their still-entwined hands and deposit Cal's fist on her knee. His breath literally hitched as she did; he relaxed his fingers and the moment his palm hit her cloth-covered skin, all the guilt and avoidance left his body and were replaced instantly by self-doubt. He gaped at her – mouth opening and closing like a fish – but no sound came out at all. It was as if he didn't trust whatever reaction he was about to give; like he didn't trust that she was real.

Gillian dragged her hands up to his forearms, squeezing gently as she went. "Look at me, Cal," she repeated. And then softly – so softly that he almost didn't hear the request – she added two final words. "Read me."

Involuntarily, Cal squeezed her knee. It was the only movement he made, save for a few heavy blinks as he stared at her. Eventually he shook his head, doubting the sentiment. "You hate that, love," he offered. "And I don't want to make you…"

Gillian gave a watery smile, and his words were lost. "Not this time," she said with a sigh. "It sounds like a cliché, I know, but words just seem so damned... _inadequate_ right now. They're too small for what I'm feeling."

Without much thought at all, Gillian dragged her fingertips further up his arms. Her touch was feather light, and she didn't stop until one delicate hand danced around the inked band on his bicep, stroking gently. So distracting… so gentle… and full of promises he was afraid that neither one of them would be able to keep.

And so Cal growled. An honest to goodness growl, and the sound of it brought her back to her senses. Her hands froze and she stared up at him guiltily, but with an expression that hid nothing. Because the simple fact was that despite all the lies and all the deception that had brought them to this place, she didn't want to hide anymore.

She didn't want to hide _anything_ anymore.

Not from him.

Cal sucked in a breath. The hand that had so idly been resting on Gillian's knee came alive and slid up the length of her thigh and landed at her waist, squeezing possessively. The other caught the back of the sofa in a death grip – all the tension and frustration that pulsed through his body in that moment was barely reigned in under the grip of his fingers.

He leaned in closer; mere centimeters. When he did, it was Gillian's turn to gasp because she was expecting a kiss. Hoping for it. Practically begging. But then he squinted, tipped his head sideways, and swept his gaze over her features and she knew she'd missed the mark. He was still studying… weighing… judging. Still so uncertain as to where they stood with each other.

And all of his second-guessing was making her so frustrated that she wanted to shout. _Can't you see how I feel, you impossible man! Can't you see that the past doesn't matter anymore? Open your eyes and look, Cal – I'm right in front of you!_

But she didn't shout. She simply sat there, patiently stroking the skin of his arms and waiting until he put the pieces together.

A beat later, Cal growled again. "You're killing me, Gillian," he groaned. His voice was fully confident, but his face was still pale and continuing to betray his lingering doubts. They were fading, yes… but the tendrils lingered.

"The last thing I want to do is screw this up. And if you'd rather…"

Gillian touched one slim finger to his lips, silencing him. "You were right, you know," she said coyly.

He blinked heavily, momentarily confused. "About what?"

She smiled softly at him, and noted that a hint of color returned to his face when she did. "You told Jack Rader that I have '_the ability to move on_.' That I won't judge a man based on a '_singular action or a singular thought_.' And you were right. I just wanted you to know that."

And then before Cal could fathom what she was doing or why, Gillian moved forward until her forehead rested against his. When she spoke again, her eyes were closed. "I can understand the guilt, but the fear? It's…"

She paused, searching for the word, and Cal felt his throat constrict with each passing microsecond. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. Couldn't speak. Everything hung on Gillian's next word.

"… unnecessary," she finished. "To hell with the fear."

As all the breath in Cal's body rushed out in one long, relieved gush, Gillian slid her hands past his shoulders and held his jaw with her fingertips. Her eyes were still closed, and every tiny muscle in her face was relaxed.

She looked beautiful.

And then finally, he smiled. A real, honest, heart warming smile that she'd known was waiting all along. "Screw the fear, love," he agreed.

Gillian nodded, still framing his face with her hands. Her eyes were open and peering into his with an intensity that matched the undercurrent of her words. "None of it matters anymore, Cal," she said. "Not the past, not the doubts, and not the guilt. Because all of it... good, bad, and in between... led us here. To this moment. Together."

Then she gave a satisfied sigh, and before Cal even realized what was about to happen, Gillian closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his.


	31. Chapter 31

**_A/N: First things first... a little disclaimer. This chapter didn't go in the exact direction I planned. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but they will come in the next chapter instead of this one. Sometimes despite my best intentions, the chapters just steer themselves in a different direction once they are being written. And secondly, I had planned this to be a longer chapter, but things for the last few days have gone chaotic, so it was either post a something short or nothing at all until after the weekend. I figured shorter was better than none, so here you go! More coming soon - I promise! _**

**_And as always, thanks for all the wonderful reviews and comments. You all are awesome. :)_**

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><p><em>"None of it matters anymore, Cal," she said. "Not the past, not the doubts, and not the guilt. Because all of it... good, bad, and in between... led us here. To this moment. Together."<em>

_Then she gave a satisfied sigh, and before Cal even realized what was about to happen, Gillian closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his._

* * *

><p>Cal's head was spinning. In the span of a few short seconds, up had become down, fear had become happiness, and intense longing had morphed into real, tangible passion. Gillian was <em>right there<em> – wrapped in his arms and grasping at his body with eager hands, and it was all making him feel delirious. Like he was the embodiment of every sappy and clichéd romanticism known to man, all because of one kiss.

In the back of his mind, Cal's subconscious self stood slack jawed and totally in awe of what had just happened. _She_ had kissed _him_. Not the other way around. Not like last time, when he lost control in front of their staff and effectively ravaged her with hungry lips and shouted words. This was _so very_ different. All of it. The feel of her soft skin against his… the heady mixture of sighs and tiny moans that poured from her every few seconds… the feel of her silky hair sliding through his fingers as their bodies shifted. Everything was slow and sensual, not rushed and frantic, and he was quickly forgetting that a world outside of their embrace existed at all.

It was the basic need for air that finally pulled them apart.

Gillian kept her face close to his and breathed heavily; she was practically panting. Her eyes were dark, and he could see her pulse thrumming wildly in the hollow below her throat. All the telltale signs of arousal were there, and the knowledge that _he_ had caused them sent Cal's heartbeat into overdrive right along with hers.

She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. It was dizzying.

The rational part of his brain was shouting that he should just calm down and wait for her make the next move. Let _her_ decide how fast or how slow to take things. Show her that s_he_ was in control here, not him.

That_ she_ would set the pace, not him.

But then very tentatively, the hand that had been resting motionless on his knee came to life and she began to drag it a few inches up his thigh. Slow, steady movements that made his breath hitch and his desire spike. And the closer she got to his belt line, the stronger his urge to simply throw her down on the sofa and take her, then and there.

As soon as the thought popped into his head, his inner conscience slapped it away. Because this was Gillian, and she deserved more than just a quick, lust filled shag on the sofa. She deserved patience. Respect.

Refocusing, Cal stroked his knuckles along her jaw and immediately felt her start to shiver beneath his fingers. And when his eyes focused on hers, he read her wide-eyed expression like an open book.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" he asked. It wasn't an accusation at all; just a gentle question. He didn't want to make any assumptions.

Gillian nodded shyly. "Surprisingly… yes. Just a little bit."

Cal grinned, unable to resist teasing her; it was just in his nature. "Bit unnecessary, seeing as how you've just had your tongue in my mouth."

Gillian's cheeks went practically crimson and her jaw fell open, but she didn't shy away from playing along. After a few silent beats, she finally regained her composure and – while Cal stared wide-eyed – she snaked out her tongue to wet her bottom lip, which was still swollen from his kiss. Then she blinked at him with a deceptively innocent expression. "Would you have preferred me to keep it in my own mouth?"

The words were a tease, and she ducked her head a bit after she spoke, as if she was surprised by her own boldness. Openly flirty Gillian Foster was a sight for sore eyes, indeed.

Cal gave a mild growl, cupped her chin in his hand and tipped it upward until her eyes met his. His nostrils flared as he breathed out a single word. "Never."

It was the intensity of his stare that finally got to her – finally pulled her to look shyly away and glance down to where her hand rested high on his thigh. Her muscles were tense and her breathing was shallow, and while those two things were definite symptoms of her undeniable arousal, the fact that she couldn't meet his eyes for any length of time was not.

She was still nervous.

And not the stomach-butterflies, lightheaded kind of nervous, either. This was the big stuff. The "_my whole life could change in the next few seconds and I'm scared shitless that I'm going to screw it all up_" kind of nerves. Cal knew them well. They were one of the main reasons he'd kept his mouth shut for so many years, and then finally ended up spilling most of his feelings while they were surrounded by an audience and both angry as hell.

Cal swallowed. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her.

"I think it's more than just a 'little bit,' Gill," he offered. He was offering her an "out." A way to cool things down before they heated up past the point of no return. A way for him to bow out like a gentleman without facing open rejection.

Gillian looked sheepish. She blinked at him, blushed again, and he had his answer. No words were needed.

_Bloody hell_. Arousal he could deal with expertly, but the 'nervous' side of things gave him pause. There was a fine line between moving forward and rushing things too fast, and Cal did not want to walk it. One misstep had the potential to ruin the mood completely, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. And as he racked his brain in search of something sensible to say – which took a rather long time, since all the blood in the his upper body had been quickly rushing south – Gillian's eyes grew wide.

Something had… changed. Or rather, she was trying to make it change. Trying to hurdle herself past the nervousness she didn't want to feel and headlong into what came next. The fun stuff.

"You don't have to…" Cal started. He wanted to make sure she understood that there was no pressure at all. None. But before he could finish, she blinked up at him with a mix of determination and self-conscious surprise, and then squeezed her fingers against his upper thigh.

The thought died in his head as he groaned, long and low.

Gillian Foster knew exactly what she was doing, alright. She knew how utterly delicious it was for him to look down and see her delicate fingers in his lap. It stirred something primal, and when his body began to move involuntarily toward hers, Cal knew he had to warn her. "You're in dangerous territory there, love," he said, speaking through clenched teeth.

A beat passed, and his hot gaze burned into hers. Gillian's hand squeezed again. "I know," she breathed. "And you're staring at me. That's equally as dangerous."

He flashed her a wolfish grin, fully enjoying their verbal dance. It was anticipation, mixed with awe. Sexual tension, balanced out with mutual desire. And as the seconds ticked by, the nervousness he'd seen behind her eyes began to ebb away.

Emboldened, Cal dragged his knuckles further down the length of her jaw, stopping only when they neared her mouth. Then he slowly smoothed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, in such a deliberately sexy fashion that Gillian trembled.

Only this time, it wasn't from nerves at all, and Cal knew it. She was standing there, on the proverbial precipice of change just waiting for him to nudge her over the edge. Waiting for him to tell her that it was time to jump, and that he would be there to catch her when she did.

"It's a leap of faith, Gillian," he breathed. "Take it with me?"


	32. Chapter 32

_Only this time, it wasn't from nerves at all, and Cal knew it. She was standing there, on the proverbial precipice of change just waiting for him to nudge her over the edge. Waiting for him to tell her that it was time to jump, and that he would be there to catch her when she did._

"_It's a leap of faith, Gillian," he breathed. "Take it with me?"_

* * *

><p>Gillian felt the oddest sense of detachment; like she was watching herself from a third person perspective rather than sitting face to face with the man who'd just uttered four of the sweetest words she'd ever heard. There he sat, offering her the promise of something she'd only ever dared to imagine, and she was too busy overthinking things to react the way a normal woman would.<p>

A normal woman would've grabbed him by now – would've launched herself those last few inches until her lips melded with his, and her hands wound through his hair, and her tongue stroked against his in a heated, possessive dance. A normal woman would've gone completely 'carpe diem' and already been half naked and halfway up the stairs, wasting no time at all in taking that… _leap_… with him. She would've happily done a swan dive.

That's how her imagination always handled it, anyway. In her daydreams (_and she was admittedly embarrassed to recall how many there had been_), she always said yes. Without hesitation. Without doubt. And without fear. In her daydreams, Cal had her breathless and panting under him in a matter of minutes… writhing against his body with wholehearted passion and a long, drawn out string of blissful moans and sighs.

In her daydreams, it was always white hot heat. Instantaneous. And so deliciously fulfilling.

She never had a single regret.

But this was… different. Now that the moment was finally upon her – up close and personal, and so tangible that she could literally taste it – Gillian didn't know quite how to react. There were still unanswered questions between them; ones that she knew needed to be resolved, if only to ensure a clean break from the past. And as much as she wanted to latch onto Cal and never let him go, the practical side of her brain couldn't shake off a few final, lingering issues.

Reality reached down and slapped Gillian across the back of the head, and when she finally focused on Cal's face again, his eyes were clouded with undeniable tendrils of fear. In a single breath, everything shifted. He went from hopeful to crestfallen before Gillian could even blink.

All because she hesitated.

He asked for a leap of faith, and she hesitated… left him hanging at the top, one foot over the edge, just waiting for her to take his hand and jump.

And while Cal was trying to piece it all together, he looked as if the floor was about to fall out from under his feet. His eyes were narrowed in fear. "So that's it, then?" he asked. The undercurrent of his voice was disbelief. Subdued, depressed shock that hit her like a punch to the gut.

She felt like the world's biggest jackass. She wanted to leap into his arms and kiss away his doubts and reassure him that yes, she would gladly take a leap of faith with him. Because she had faith _in_ him. In both of them. Faith that they would make it work… that everything between them would be alright, past bullshit baggage be damned. The words were tripping on her tongue, but everything was so jumbled up inside her head that they just refused to come out correctly.

How bitterly ironic it was to remember all those times she'd told Cal to "use his words." Because if this is what it felt like for him, no wonder the man resorted to mind games and innuendo to get her attention. She was amazed that he hadn't self-combusted years ago.

She felt impossibly frustrated. "Cal, you don't understand," she tried.

He scoffed in reply, and suddenly she felt the fear shoot through her system like an arrow. Not fear of commitment, or of taking things to the next level. But fear that she'd already blown her chance… that he'd retreat back behind his mask to protect himself, and she'd be left holding her heart in her hand.

Gillian gave a shuddering sigh, and then gripped his hand as tightly as she could. "Let me explain, please."

"I don't need an explanation," he said. This time, shock had shifted to hurt, and he turned his face away from hers so that his next words hit the air between them. "Listen, Foster, maybe I should just…"

As he gestured awkwardly toward the door, Gillian focused on one single word. Foster. He'd gone back to Foster already. Jesus, this was going so badly. So very, very badly, and he had it all completely wrong.

Cal gave a heavy sigh. "I think I should go," he said. He ran one hand through his hair and furrowed his brow as if the words physically pained him. His other hand was still gripped in hers, and when he went to pull it away, Gillian winced.

"Please, Foster," he implored. "Let me go." It was just two short phrases, but she didn't know which one cut worse. And despite the baggage that was still stacked between them, Gillian knew that this was it. The turning point. The moment when she either had to go all in, or cut her losses and walk away. He gave one last tug on her hand, and just as his fingers broke free from hers, she flew into motion.

Because the last thing she wanted to do was walk away from Cal.

In a split second, impulse finally overtook logic and she burst forward so that her breasts mashed against his chest and her arms looped around his neck. She moved so suddenly and so forcefully that it knocked him off balance and sent him toppling backward a bit, so that she was practically lying on top of him in a tangled, breathless heap.

Once they'd settled, Cal's mouth dropped open in genuine surprise. His eyes were wide and wary, and they were darkening with each passing beat; heavy arousal, fueled by a strange mix of fear and adrenaline. He looked… downright sexy.

In their awkward position, Gillian had the upper hand. Literally. Cal was pinned partially beneath her, so that he had to look up into her eyes in order to read her expression. When he did, everything clicked. His features softened a bit… the wounded pride was gone, and in its place came hazy understanding.

Gillian's hesitation hadn't been rejection at all… just a mess of confusion and unanswered questions. She wanted so badly to do things right, that she'd gotten in her own way and fumbled them instead. And who was Cal to judge that, anyway? He was practically a master at the _'open mouth, insert foot'_ game.

Cal sighed against her and dragged the back of his hand gently across her jawline, toward her ear. "So many thoughts," he breathed, searching her eyes. "Let me in, Foster. Please."

Her mouth was set in a firm line. It was stubborn determination mixed with the slightest hint of annoyance, and Cal knew that expression well. Gillian practically had a patent on it. But before he could question it, her lips quirked upward into a tiny smirk, and then she finally broke her silence. "Don't you dare '_Foster'_ me," she said.

When the penny dropped, Cal smirked right back at her. "That sounds a bit like a challenge, yeah?"

She shook her head and looked him square in the eye. "I don't make '_challenges_,'" she teased, making a play on his own words. Her voice was as smooth as honey. "I make promises."

In the next breath, her lips were on his… hot and frenzied and possessive. And she was using her body to tell him everything that she hadn't been able to say with words. That she was ready to leap… ready for anything, so long as it was with him.

Her hands clutched at him – working from his neck, to his shoulders, and then down over his chest where she felt his rapid heartbeat beneath her palm. She was filled with sensation; an urgency, almost, to show him exactly how she felt and exactly how strongly she felt it. That she never meant to scare him – never meant to make him doubt himself or how much he meant to her.

Around the time her fingers found the hem of his shirt and dove beneath, Cal grabbed her face in both hands and stilled her movements. He was panting; his face was flushed and eyes were wide with desire. Dark, heavy, palpable desire that set off a flame within her and threatened to spur her hands into motion again.

_Threatened_ being the key word. She wanted to touch him, but something in his expression held her attention instead. He was looking at her so openly and honestly that it caught her by surprise and everything stilled.

"I need to know why you hesitated," he said. "Before we do this – before we take this step, Gillian, I need to know what held you back. Because the last thing I want to do is push you into something that you're not quite ready to do. There's no harm in waiting, love. I've waited ten years… a little longer won't kill me."

She swallowed; she knew she owed him an explanation, but it sounded somewhat hollow in her own mind now. She reached for his hands, threaded her fingers through his, and looked at him with as much resolve as she could muster. "Truth?" she asked weakly. It was their normal starting ground for awkward conversations; this would be no different.

"Always," he answered, erasing the last of her nervous tension in a single, soothing word.

"I wanted to know why you lied to me in the first place. Why you couldn't bring yourself to tell me about all of this until now? About that case, about my prick of a husband… about everything? Didn't you think that I deserved to know?"

Cal's face paled a bit, and then he shrugged, trying to make light of his own answer. "Simple, really. I lied because I didn't want to lose you."

Gillian squeezed his hands, somewhat exasperated. "You wouldn't have lost me," she breathed. "_That much_ is simple, too."

Cal raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it gently. "'Course I would have, darling," he explained. "You and I both know that If Alec had tried to go through with that case, your only leverage would've been to stop seeing me. Dissolve our partnership and our friendship in exchange for his silence. And he was your husband. _Your husband_. And I wouldn't have blamed you at all for walking away. Not at all. When it came right down to it, I didn't want to take the chance. I wanted to protect you – protect your reputation and your image and your pride. But on top of that, I wanted to protect myself. Because I couldn't lose you, Gill. It's that simple. I was a selfish, manipulative bastard. And for that – and for lying to you – I apologize."

Gillian felt faint. She felt like the entire room was spinning, and that she was at the center of the storm, trying to lock her eyes on a single target just to remain upright. Cal Lightman – master of sexual innuendo, confidence, and all things manipulative – had always been afraid of losing her. So simple, and yet so complicated. Baggage, to the nth degree.

On impulse, she brought one of his hands to her lips and trailed her lips over each knuckle in turn. Calming him. Letting him know that things between them were mostly settled. "We all have our secrets, don't we?" she offered. "God knows I did. And it would make me quite the hypocrite to hold yours against you, considering my history. You forgave me, Cal. Remember?"

He shrugged again, downplaying things. "That was different," he said.

"No, it wasn't. And just for the record, I wouldn't have done it. Even if Alec Foster had insisted that I walk away from our partnership and never speak to you again, I wouldn't have done it. I would have chosen you, Cal. Without a second thought."

Cal's lips stretched into a slow smile. A slow, disbelieving, '_I can't believe my own dumb luck'_ kind of smile that made Gillian's insides simultaneously melt, and then clench with anticipation. He looked so damned charming and boyish that it was completely disarming.

"And now?" he asked. The words were spoken with baited breath; hopeful, yet cautious. He didn't want to get his hopes up again.

Gillian smiled, and stroked her fingertips against his cheek. "Now?" she repeated, rolling the word around in her mouth as she pretended to think it over. "Now… we leap. I'm ready if you are."


	33. Chapter 33

**_A/N: And here's the warning that most of you probably expected with this chapter. We're in the middle of "M" territory here, people. I think it's tasteful and not overly explicit... but definitely a big, fat M. Enjoy!_**

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><p><em>Gillian smiled, and stroked her fingertips against his cheek. "Now?" she repeated, rolling the word around in her mouth as she pretended to think it over. "Now… we leap. I'm ready if you are."<em>

* * *

><p>It was barely dawn when she awoke, sated and warm with his body still wrapped around her like ivy… his bare chest cuddled into her back and his arms pulled tightly across her frame in a solid embrace. He was possessive, even in sleep, and the realization made her smile.<p>

She felt peaceful. Safe.

Whole.

For all the times she'd spent imagining what it would be like to become intimate with Cal – what it would finally be like to be able to touch him, to taste him, to let down the barriers they'd both spent so many years constructing – she'd never once thought of this. Of _this_ moment. How it would feel to rest in his arms, unashamed and unafraid… what it would feel like to be held. Cherished. Loved, beyond the physical sense.

It felt nothing short of amazing.

Without conscious thought, Gillian let out a satisfied murmur under her breath and stretched slightly. Her muscles were tingly… not sore, but thoroughly satisfied. And that realization made her smile again. Turns out all the innuendo that Cal dropped over the years was right on the money. He was a giver, alright. One with an energy level that betrayed his age. It made her feel… alive again. _He_ made her feel alive again. Like everything she'd always thought made her happy was suddenly flipped on its axis and tweaked. Reshaped and reconfigured, in such a way that made her see everything through different eyes, and with a different perspective.

For the first time, she could see herself through his eyes. See what Cal saw of her… and it was liberating.

"_Do you have any idea how amazing you are?"_ he'd whispered, ghosting kisses down the length of her jaw, and then further south until his lips brushed her cleavage. He'd peered up at her – somehow totally in control and totally vulnerable all in the same beat – and the look in his eyes stole her breath. There was no fear, no doubt… no uncertainty at all. Only love. And though he didn't voice it aloud just yet, she read it easily in his touch and in his words.

"_I'm in awe of you, Gillian. Of your strength, of your beauty… of your spirit. Always have been."_

And when he finally slipped inside her – hard and ready and so undeniably _hers_ – she merely held him tight and murmured praises of her own. That it had been worth the wait. That _he_ had been worth the wait. And she didn't hesitate to tell him that she loved him.

She'd come undone in a matter of moments, clutching at his shoulders and dropping his name from her lips like a prayer, and shouting aloud with the strength of the climax that stole her breath. Cal followed seconds later – overwhelmed and exhausted. And as he collapsed on her chest – managing enough strength to smooth back the sweat dampened hair from her forehead as he studied her – his eyes were wide with wonder. "_I love you too_," he breathed. "_For so long now, Gill… so very long."_

Cal Lightman had always been a man of action – not words. And she'd never once imagined that he could be so… gentle with her. So romantic. But then again, for as well as they knew each other, all of this was still uncharted territory. And Gillian was looking forward to discovering it with him.

All of it.

* * *

><p>Gillian hadn't meant to fall asleep again. She'd been happily enjoying the sound of Cal's breathing – even and steady behind her – and replaying the events of the past few hours, when his body stirred and gently nudged her awake.<p>

She gave a sleepy, contented sigh and immediately felt the pull of Cal's smile as he dipped his head to kiss the back of her shoulder. "Didn't mean to wake you, love," he said, involuntarily shifting his hips toward her as he spoke.

The movement was so slight that he might not have been aware of it, but she certainly was. And she felt the reason for it pressing invitingly against the curve of her bottom. "Liar," she giggled, and then she turned in his arms so they were face to face – his hand splayed over her hip, and hers on his bare chest.

His expression left little doubt as to what he was thinking. It was playful, with just enough of a smoldering edge behind his eyes to set her heart – and her hormones – on fire again. He looked at her with desire, unchecked and all-consuming, and it was strong enough that she felt her face flame in response. A beat later Cal threw her a wide stretching grin and she knew the crimson color had deepened.

He was such a smug bastard. Smug and naked and so damned sexy that her mind wasted little time in imagining dozens of different ways to enjoy his impromptu wake-up call.

The possibilities were endless.

She was right in the middle of a particularly vivid set of mental images that involved them initiating every single room in her house, when she finally came to her senses and realized that he was staring at her. Hungrily.

Right on cue, she felt her face begin to flame anew. Cal pounced on it – practically eating up her reaction with a spoon. "Bit late for being shy, love," he offered, echoing his thoughts from earlier when she blushed during their kiss on the couch. "Especially when you consider that I've spent quite a bit of time with my tongue in your…"

"Cal!"

He grinned even further then, looking every bit like the cat that swallowed the canary, and then dropped his voice into a low, breathy rumble so that his accent hung heavy between them. "You can shout my name all you want, it'll only encourage me. Although, I _do_ seem to remember it sounding a bit… _huskier_ last time. Bit louder, too. Refresh my memory, Gillian – how did it go?"

Gillian sucked in a breath and shifted her hand to his bicep. Half of her wanted to smack him, and the other half wanted to latch onto his body and do each and every wicked thing that popped into her overactive imagination a few moments earlier. Slowly, and with enough detail to make his toes curl. But she didn't. Instead, she opted to out-wait him and see how far this little game of innuendo was going to go before one of them broke.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten already," she purred, egging him on. Refusing to give him what he wanted. Not yet, at least.

"Oh, I'll never forget," he corrected. His lips had begun trailing across her clavicle in a warm, wet path and the words were punctuated by nipping kisses designed to drive the point home. "I'll never forget anything about last night. Trust me."

"Never?" Gillian tried. It came out as a partial moan, partial squeak, and she felt Cal smile against her skin as soon as he heard it.

"Never."

Cal paused for a beat, studying her reaction and the way her had was now gripping his bicep instead of resting idly on his chest. _Yes, it was definitely working_. In the past few seconds, she'd shot way past shocked and was now well and truly aroused, and fully enjoying their game. Using that knowledge to his advantage, he reared up on his elbow and turned his body toward hers so that he was left with open access to her ear.

_On to phase two, _he decided.

Moving slowly, he snaked out a single finger and trailed her jaw – deliberate, measured movements designed to make her shiver. To make her melt beneath him the way she'd done last night, breathless and gasping and so damned perfect for him that he felt it all the way to his bones. He wanted to make her cry out for him again… to make her beg… and then to give her exactly what she craved. All of him – body and soul.

"What was it you said, love?" he tried again, stroking the shell of her ear with a fingertip. "'_Don't stop, Cal? Oh please, don't stop_.'"

Gillian was practically panting as he quoted her words verbatim. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her hands gripped him tightly; one squeezed his bicep, while the other shifted down his spine and landed low on his hip. And then she pulled… she literally pulled his hips into hers, shifting her lower body against him in a frustrated attempt to gain some friction. "Please," she breathed.

Cal groaned, nearly undone by the desperation in her voice. "I seem to remember a bit more than that, Gill," he teased.

His head dipped toward her skin, claiming it as she squirmed beneath him. Kissing a steady path down her throat as his hand stroked her breasts. "I seem to remember you being rather bossy, yeah? '_Harder. Faster. Just like that_.'"

Holy hell, she was about to cave… part of her was willing to say anything he wanted if only he'd stop with the teasing, and start _touching_ her already. Not the gentle, soothing, caresses that stayed decidedly _north_ of her waistline. But the real stuff. Hot and heavy and so damned amazing it made her eyes roll back in her head. Yes, Cal Lightman was a master at many things, and manipulating her body in all the right places was a skill he'd apparently been born with. The man knew how to make her scream.

"Come on, Gillian. You know what I want to hear…"

With a surprising display of willpower, Gillian channeled every sexual urge she was feeling and used the element of surprise to catch Cal off guard. Seconds later, he was pinned beneath her – his shoulders being driven into the mattress as she sat astride his hips and leaned forward until her soft hair brushed either side of his face. "So you think I'm bossy, huh?" she teased, fully enjoying the look of shocked arousal that was plastered across his face. "Well then… how's this for bossy?"

She kissed him then, long and hard, and when she broke away his fiery smile mirrored hers exactly.

"It's bloody fantastic," he said. He reached up to cup her breasts, but she caught him just before he made contact and brought his hands back to the mattress again, twined in her own.

"Is it, now?" she answered, enjoying his pout and deciding to take full advantage of her opportunity to tease him now that the tables had turned. She wasted no time in bending forward again to nip at his throat… then the sensitive spot beneath his ear she'd discovered hours earlier. Her payoff was his moan, and she reveled in it.

"Well Doctor Lightman, if I'd known that my bossy tendencies turned you on this much, I'd have upped the ante years ago."

Cal whined. He positively whined, pushing his hips up against her and coming dangerously close to her center. Which was exactly where she wanted him, of course. She just wanted to finish what he'd started _first_. And so she wiggled out of the way at the last possible second – letting the length of him brush against her as she went, and torturing the both of them.

"Gillian, please…" he groaned, repeating the action immediately. Desperate to feel her again.

His impatience blazed a trail straight to her core, and she let out a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes, Cal?" she offered. "Is there something you need? Something you've been… _craving_?" She emphasized the final word, knowing he'd recognize it as his own. Knowing he'd understand exactly what she was doing.

She squirmed rhythmically against his hips – partly as a way to torment him, and partly as a way to get a bit of relief for herself. Once again, her payoff was his moan, one that sounded low and gravely in his throat. And she knew she was pushing her luck. Cal Lightman was a passionate man, whose stubbornness was bested only by his sex drive, and she knew she was walking a tightrope between the two.

Practically daring him into action.

Daring him to take the driver's seat again and show her what he could do… that he could make her forget everything, save for his touch.

Waiting until the last possible second – when she could easily see that he was about to break – Gillian skimmed her hands over his chest, delighting in the trail of gooseflesh that followed in her wake. "Wasn't that what you said last night?" she purred, dipping her head to speak directly into his ear. "'_I crave you, Gillian. Your touch, your body… all of it. All of you, with all of me_.'"

With lightning speed that she hadn't anticipated, Cal leaned up and caught her lips in a searing kiss. He was possessive and frantic, but given her current position, Gillian still held the power between them. He didn't try to topple her – didn't try to move her body in any way at all. He just kissed her, concentrating on the feel of his mouth against hers to convey the desire that coursed within him.

When he pulled away a moment later, his eyes burned into hers. "I meant every word, love. Every single word. I'll always crave you."

Gillian stilled then, moved by the look on his face. In the span of a few seconds, it had shifted from raw, pulsing desire into something decidedly deeper. Something stronger.

Love, unconditional.

Her heart began to thunder in her ears, driven by the fire that was now raging out of control within her. "Is that a promise?" she breathed.

Cal's hands skimmed her body, coming to rest astride her hips, just above the place where her pelvis hovered over his. And as she held his gaze, he squeezed. He was kneading her flesh with his greedy hands, eager to please her but equally eager to convey his sincerity.

Needing her to understand how much he loved her.

With deliberate patience, his fingertips ghosted up her curves again until his hands splayed across the middle of her back. And then he rose to meet her, hugging his body next to hers until they were both upright – chest to chest, skin to skin. As they settled, he slipped inside her, delighting in the way her body instantly tightened around him.

Tenderly, he pressed another kiss to her lips and began thrusting into her at a slow, sensuous pace. "With all my heart, Gillian. With all my heart."


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Hello again! I tried for several weeks to write a new chapter, and when nothing would come out - and that horrible blank screen just sat there mocking me - I decided to leave well enough alone and end it at the last chapter. Fast forward to this morning, when I was sitting at home minding my own business, and poof! Cal's voice was in my head. A few hours later, and here you go: Chapter 34. And yes, there is more to come. I know that, because chapter 35 is already partially written. Thanks again for reading / reviewing. It is very much appreciated!**_

_**A side note: This chapter is a strong T. I'm not sure it's quite an M, but it's definitely a strong T. Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>It had been exactly two weeks since their first passionate night together, and things between Cal and Gillian had been steadily progressing. Instead of awkward, flirtatious partings at the end of each work day – with drinks in Cal's office and stolen smiles when each thought the other wasn't looking – they enjoyed long, lingering kisses and nights spent exploring each other in ways that had been denied to them for so many years.<p>

Not every night, of course. Because there was Emily to think about, and because they were still getting their footing stabilized; trying to figure out the appropriate balance between their work lives and their personal life without everything meshing together into one giant, all-consuming lump.

Things between them were still so _new_. Or at least, things in their intimate relationship were still so new. And the last thing Gillian wanted to do was to rush headlong into something to serious – allowing herself to be driven by hormones and romanticism – and lose sight of who she and Cal were as separate people.

Yes, they'd effectively been "together" for years. And yes, their foundation – their friendship – was strong. Damn strong. But everything else was still developing. Now, everything had a potentially different purpose. They were open to entirely different consequences, all the time. Every kiss, every glance, every touch – innocent or not – all meant more. It meant that they were finally _there_. _Together_. It was open and honest and so damned refreshing that it was a wonder either of them managed to get through an entire day without alerting their staff that things had changed between them. But for the most part, everyone was blissfully unaware.

Sure, there were whispers. That was nothing new. There were questioning glances from the interns – and even, at times, from clients – whenever Cal stood too close, or let his hand rest on the small of her back for a beat too long, or whenever she leaned in to speak to him and brushed her body against his in a way that was a bit more… _intimate_… than before. But there had always been rumors, and there had always been gossip, and she'd learned to ignore it quite a long time ago.

Confirming it, on the other hand, seemed a bit… risky. It was all but impossible to have any kind of private life while surrounded by a bunch of human lie detectors, and Gillian was reluctant to give them all a play by play of her bedroom antics with Cal. Because she knew it would only take one word – one tiny little confirmation that yes, they were together, and yes, they were in love, and then all bets would be off. It would be open season. Every time they were a few minutes late, or took a bit longer at lunch, or were away for a meeting just a bit too long, she knew the jokes would come. And though she was certain no one would dare hurt her feelings on purpose – or Cal's, for that matter – she was still hesitant.

The longer they kept things to themselves, she decided, the better it would be for all of them. On paper, it made sense. But convincing Cal that she was right was proving to be a bit of an effort. _He_ was all in favor of the radical honesty movement. Hell, he would have had no qualms about making out with her in the lobby in front of all the staff and with a handful of clients thrown in for good measure. And he didn't understand her reluctance to share the news with people that were practically family.

And so it had become a familiar debate with them. Nothing heated, and nothing even close to an argument, but still… her insistence that things be kept a secret were slowly driving him crazy, and his brazen attempts to either cop a feel or steal a lingering kiss at the office in protest were doing the same thing to her.

* * *

><p>"You want me to lie, Gill?" Cal asked. He peered at her over his breakfast plate, loudly chewing in protest as the distaste for her idea was written all over his face. They'd discussed it a hundred times, easy, so this newest debate was nothing new. "Seems a bit unrealistic, seeing as how the whole bloody office has been privy to everything so far. They've seen me with my tongue down your throat, love. You really think they haven't already assumed that we're…"<p>

He paused then, rolling his eyes upward as he searched for the right word. From her seat across the table, Gillian rolled her eyes right back at him. "Please don't say '_shagging_,'" she said, putting as much negative emphasis on that word as Cal had done with "lie."

Cal scoffed, and the sound of it made Gillian roll her eyes again. There was a tiny little frown etched across her brow and she chewed in silence, waiting for him to continue their discussion. So far, everything was falling right into pattern. They would debate, both making valid points, and in the end, they'd table everything with the intention of picking it up again "later." Neither wanted to fight, and neither wanted the other to be unhappy, but for some reason or another, "later" never came. And so, they still stood at the starting point, making no real headway on the topic.

But on this morning, there was something about the look on her face that caught his attention in a different way. Something about the way her mouth formed the word "shagging" that made him feel a bit… naughty. Made him feel like shaking things up, and seeing how far she'd let him push things before she realized what he was doing.

And so, he did.

With a stealthy grin, Cal cleared his throat and put on his game face. _Show time._

"What's wrong with 'shagging,' then? I've never heard any complaints from you yet," he cracked. His voice was dripping with as much innuendo as he could muster, given the early hour and a mouthful of food. He was still chewing loudly – mostly to distract her from his true intentions – but it was hard to hide his amusement as he watched her cheeks color the slightest shade of pink.

Gillian swallowed and her eyes went wide. She was poised with her fork midway between her plate and her mouth, with an expression that was half exasperated and half wistful. And Cal had little doubt that she was replaying the events of the past several days in her memory. Because _he_ certainly was. He did it so frequently, in fact, that they were practically on a constant loop.

"No, no," she clarified. "I've got nothing even close to a complaint, Cal – you know that. In fact, I thought I made myself pretty clear last night."

She dropped her own brand of innuendo into those final few words, then blinked rapidly and took a few deep breaths. When her eyes met his again, Cal saw that she was still distracted. And aroused. And so his grin widened, shifting into an arrogant little smirk that was reserved only for her. One that he wore whenever their conversation turned to sex, or to anything that he managed to _steer_ toward sex. Single minded, he was.

Not that Gillian ever blamed him. It wouldn't be fair, really, since she was quickly developing the same habit. The man was like a drug. An all-consuming, toe-curling drug who could make her feel so damned good that sometimes she wanted to throw him down in the middle of the office and start tearing at his clothing, despite her insistence that things be kept under wraps. Because in all the time she'd spent imagining what it would be like to be with Cal, she'd never expected it to become so addicting so quickly.

She'd never expected to become addicted to _him_. To his touch, to his presence, to his… everything.

Things between them had gone from zero to downright hot after their first night together. And everything in Gillian's past history paled in comparison. She'd always been demure and reserved, waiting for the man to take the driver's seat and direct the course of their relationship. But Cal was different. He was _more_. He made her feel _more_, and want _more_, and it was scary, sometimes, to think that things between them would probably just get even… _heavier_… with time.

"Last night," he repeated. He rolled the words in his mouth slowly, pretending that it was a struggle to remember. Which it wasn't, of course. It was just part of his game.

Gillian sighed. "Yes, Cal. Last night."

He grinned again, now certain he'd end up getting what he wanted after all. Deciding to ignore the final few bites of his breakfast, he dropped his fork to the side of his plate and shifted forward in his chair so that his body leaned closer to hers. In their little game of cat and mouse, he was definitely in the lead. "_'Yes, Cal_,' sounds familiar, alright," he quipped, as her cheeks tinged pink again. "Seem to recall a few directives thrown in there, too. '_Right there'_ is one of your favorites, yeah? You practically chanted it at me."

Gillian shut her eyes and glanced away, but he knew she wasn't really embarrassed by what she'd done. Not at all. She just wasn't expecting him to offer a play-by-play of it at her breakfast table.

"Well, we could discuss one of your favorites if you'd rather," she quipped, trying to throw him off track.

It didn't work. He simply shook his head and reached across the table for her hand. "Not this time," he said calmly. "This time, we're talking about you. And your distaste for 'shagging.' Or rather, your distaste for the _word_ 'shagging.'"

She sighed exasperatedly even as she twined her fingers with his. He was incorrigible sometimes. Playful and infuriating, but so damned sexy – in even the most minor of details – that she opted to overlook most everything that annoyed her in favor of the knowledge that he was finally _hers_.

Like right now. She could choose to steer the conversation back on its original course – which was her insistence that they keep their relationship under wraps – but she didn't. She opted to play with him instead. To give as good as she was getting, and throw the flirtatious banter right back at him just because she could. Because she knew it would make him happy.

"Is this some kind of contest, then?" she joked. "Are you trying to see how many times you can say that word before I crack and jump over the table to tackle you?"

Cal's chest puffed out at the mere idea that she might do that. "Will you?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"Possibly."

There was a short pause as he wrestled with the mental image of her actually following through with it. "Really?"

She smirked. "I'm full of surprises, Cal. Just wait and see."

Then it was his turn to blush a bit – and the sight of it made her think that their little debate was finished. But when the next word shot out of his mouth, hers fell open in surprise.

"Shagging," he quipped. He spoke low in his throat, thickening his accent on purpose just to give the word a more seductive feel. Just to make her squirm.

It worked. Gillian's eyes shot up to meet his and she literally squirmed in her seat. The ball was back in Cal's court, and he knew exactly how to play it.

"That's four," he said. "Should I go a few more for good measure?"

"You're impossible."

"Always," he agreed. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Always."

He gave a quick nod, happy to hear her say it. "Right then. _Shagging_."

"Cal…"

"That's five."

She giggled then, but made no move to either argue with him or change the subject. She was relenting, and he knew it. He'd already won.

"You sure there's no complaints, then?" There was a trace of humor in Cal's voice that she did not miss, and he made a show of checking his watch as the question hung between them. "Because we _do_ still have a bit of time. Twenty minutes, easy."

Gillian sucked in a breath, totally surprised by what she knew he was suggesting. A flash of disbelief wove its way across her features, and Cal read it instantly. But before she could speak a single word, he moved in for the kill.

"You'd be surprised what I could do with twenty minutes, Gillian."

His tone was dark and erotic, leaving little to her imagination. She gasped again, and started to stutter, and he knew he'd found his opening. With a wolfish grin, he stood from the table and held out his hand to wait for hers. There was no question that she'd follow him. None at all.

"That's not fair," she breathed, shaking her head in half protest as she rose from her seat to join him. "You changed the subject. You got me all distracted when I was trying to have a serious discussion about…"

He silenced her with a kiss on the shell of her ear and then dropped one lower, near her throat. When his lips left her skin, he hummed in sympathy. "So discuss, then. My mouth will be otherwise occupied for the next several minutes, but yours won't be."

Gillian gave a strained, whispered moan and turned to follow him as he led her from the kitchen. "But you'll have to speak up, love. Might be a bit hard to hear you with my head between your…"

"Cal!" she squeaked, stopping dead in her tracks and tugging on his hand until he turned back to face her. Her first instinct had been to scold him – to tell him that no, they could not be late for their meeting, and no, they did not have time to play around. And she had every intention of putting things on hold until the evening, when they could take their time and enjoy each other properly. But then he raised one of her hands to his mouth and began to press soft kisses against each fingertip, and she was lost – surrendering her better judgment to the talents of his lips.

"Twenty minutes, you say?"

He nodded, stepping towards her to speak directly into her ear. "That's loads of time, Gillian. Just think how many times I could make you…"

Abruptly, she turned her face towards his and caught him by surprise with an intense kiss. _That_ was her answer. Of course it was 'yes.' When he pulled back seconds later with a low growl, she saw that his eyes were black and wild. It was yet another thing that was quickly becoming addictive – the look on his face when he wanted her.

"A girl could get used to this, you know," she said, quickening their pace as she took the lead and hurried them to the couch. "I might start making sure we have twenty minutes to spare every single morning."

Cal's expression was serious as he leaned over her body and spoke softly. "Brace yourself, love. Because _this_ is me… I'm in love with you, and the very last thing I want to do is lie to anyone about that. But if you won't let me shout it from the rooftops just yet, then I'll have to settle for the next best thing."

She blinked up at him as she settled on the sofa, breathless and anticipating his touch to the point that it was almost painful. "Which is?" she breathed.

Cal kneeled in front of her, and ran his hand down the length of her body until it hovered at the hem of her skirt. When his fingertips began to venture underneath, he glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. His eyes were feral. "Simple," he said. "It's the sound of you shouting _my_ name."


	35. Chapter 35

Cal smirked from behind the steering wheel and fought down the urge to point out the truth: that despite Gillian's best intentions to keep their relationship under wraps, if they kept carpooling to the office, they were going to give the game away pretty bloody quickly. Not that he minded at all. Far from it. And he hadn't been kidding about the whole 'shout it from the rooftops' cliché. He would gladly shout it to the whole world, if she'd let him.

Hell, if they kept up with the secrecy much longer, he might do it anyway. Just because he could. Subtlety wasn't exactly his middle name, and Gillian knew that better than anyone. The thought made him chuckle under his breath, but he managed to hide it behind the low hum of the radio before she could call him on it.

As far as Cal was concerned, Gillian was being silly about the whole thing. What did she think was going to happen if they came clean, anyway? Their friendship had been water cooler gossip for years – hell, someone on their payroll (_Loker, he supposed_) had started a betting pool ages ago as to which one of them would break first. Would Foster seduce Lightman, or vice versa? It was the age old question around the Group, and it was certainly _not_ hush-hush.

He'd even heard rumors of a little side bet: whether or not they'd ever be caught in the act at the office, and where. It was like their own customized version of "Clue." _Foster, in her office, with a killer pair of red stilettos_. _Lightman, in the conference room, with a bottle of Scotch_. _Foster, in Lightman's private study, on his ladder_.

That mental image of that last one still made him smile. And truth be told, he'd ponied up twenty dollars of his own money just to get in on the action, and he hadn't been able to _look_ at that bloody ladder the same way since.

Gillian was still in the dark about that little detail. And Cal planned to keep it that way for a very long time.

* * *

><p>"We're ten minutes late," Gillian said, stating the obvious from the passenger seat and interrupting Cal's train of thought with a small sigh. She sounded more distracted than mad, and she was fidgeting with her hair in the vanity mirror as he drove.<p>

"I wasn't exactly running a stopwatch down there, love. And I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I went cold turkey just as you were rounding home plate. Paybacks for that one would've haunted me for ages."

Gillian made a noise that was part laugh, part frustration, and cocked her head sideways at him. "Fair point," she admitted. "You know me so well."

"Aye, aye," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her as he turned his attention back to the traffic flow ahead. So far, so good. Now on to step two: how to explain the next bit to Gillian with as little… messiness… as possible.

He had not lied. Not technically. Because they really did have a meeting this morning. A very important meeting, which had the potential to change the outcome of a very important case. They were dealing with a missing young girl, who'd gotten herself mixed up in one hell of a bad situation, and a family that loved her and wanted her to come home.

But then again… technically (and he knew that this was the point at which the "messiness" kicked in), their meeting wasn't with a real client at all. It was field research, of sorts. Undercover field research. With a porn producer, at that. And hindsight told Cal that their little morning escapade was probably a smart move, because maybe – just maybe – he'd worked up enough brownie points that she wouldn't be so quick to kill him when he dropped those details on her.

"_Feel like hitting up a porn studio, Gill? In the name of science, of course. And just for the hell of it, we're gonna tell the little weasel that runs the place that you're into the whole ménage a trois scene, yeah? That you fancy a bit of girl on girl action. And by the way, we're married. At least for the next few hours. Just to make the whole thing believable. Sound good?"_

_Rriiigghht_. She'd have imploded at the mere mention of his little scheme.

So, in typical Lightman fashion, he decided to wing it and hoped she'd go easy on him. Or at least save her wrath until after they'd met their mark. And then if she opted for physical violence, at least they'd have already gotten the goods.

* * *

><p>"So are you planning to tell me why you've brought me to meet with the Porn King of DC, or shall I just go with my gut?"<p>

By the time Cal cut the engine and turned to face her, Gillian's eyes were narrowed in suspicion as she waited for his answer. She was irritated, yes – but there was a trace of humor in her expression that he didn't miss. It was his lifeline, of sorts. Logic told him that as long as she was even the _tiniest bit_ amused – even though she was trying like hell to hide it – then he was probably safe. Or at least safe enough to avoid a knee to the groin or a smack to the back of his head. A win-win, he decided. They'd find the girl, have a little bonding experience, and earn themselves one bloody fantastic conversation starter in the process.

He could practically hear it already.

'_Sorry we're a bit late, Loker. Foster and I spent the morning at a porn studio. Didn't think to put that one in your bloody betting pool, did you?'_

Priceless. He made a mental note to try it out in range of the video monitors.

Gillian gave an exaggerated sigh and shook her head at him. She was growing less and less irritated with each second, and even though he still hadn't given her any details, she didn't press for them. It was one of the many things he loved about her. That even though he had his own special brand of crazy, she trusted him enough to hold his hand and be pulled along for the ride.

"What's with the grin?" she asked.

Cal absently reached for her hand and tugged it into his lap before answering. "'_Porn King of DC_?'" he teased. "I take it you're familiar with his work, then."

That one earned him a soft giggle. "Just his reputation."

"A shame, that. Because it would be quite useful if you had a bit of experience with this type of thing."

"With… _porn_?" she asked rhetorically. She drew the word out involuntarily – like it left a bad taste in her mouth, yet left her curious at the same time. As if she was embarrassed to have said it aloud.

Cal bared his teeth in a boyish grin and leaned his body closer to hers. A dozen smart-assed comments were flying through his brain, but he managed to bite them all back in favor of a tiny little dig at her expense. "Is this like the '_shagging'_ thing, then? Are you trying to see how many times you can say that word before I hop over the center console and see about giving the professionals a run for their money? Because I'll do it, Gill. You know I will."

She laughed loudly then – a full on belly laugh that lit up her entire face and made him feel ten years younger just for causing it. "I'm not sure if that's supposed to sound like a threat, or more of an '_offer I can't refuse'_ type of thing, but either way, I think we better focus on work or we're both liable to end up in a rather compromising position in a very public setting."

* * *

><p>"Ever think about getting married again, love?"<p>

The question came completely out of the blue, and Gillian's reaction to it was almost as interesting as he'd expected. They were waiting for the elevator – standing side by side in comfortable silence – and she literally grabbed onto the wall for support, lest she pancake to the floor from sheer surprise.

Cal stuffed his right hand in his pocket and bounced forward on the balls of his feet as he studied her. Wide eyes… flushed cheeks… rapid, shallow breathing. She was nervous. Excited. And more than a little bit stunned. Hesitation wove its way across her face and she seemed to struggle with her word choice a bit before finally deciding on an innocent deflection.

"Have you?"

He grinned. _Nice try_. "I asked you first."

Gillian rolled her eyes and tried to play coy, but he easily saw her answer before she gave it. "I suppose I have, yes."

And it was something about the way her eyes held his after that last word – something about the way she watched him, hesitant but yet still willing to let him to read her – that spoke volumes more than anything they could've said with words. _That_ was the thing with them – the largest part of what made them so utterly compatible, even though on the surface they were as different as night and day. It was the trust. It was intrinsic. And in that moment, he ran with it.

His plan had always been to pose as a married couple. He knew it would be much more believable that way, and he knew they could pull it off. Everyone in the district already assumed they were going at it like rabbits behind closed doors, so it wasn't a giant leap to turn that same intensity toward a bunch of slimy businessmen in the sex industry and pawn it off as legitimate. It wasn't a leap at all.

And so he'd come prepared. Option A was currently sitting in a small box in his left pocket, and option B was tucked away in his right. Both would do the job quite nicely, but only one had sentimental value behind it. And only one felt… right.

_Bloody hell._

Two weeks of head over heels happiness with Gillian and he was turning into a sap. But he didn't care. Sappiness was just fine with him if it meant that he got to see that look on her face, and know he was the one who caused it.

As the elevator doors opened, Cal placed his left hand low on Gillian's back to guide her inside the car. His right hand closed around the rings – Option B – and once the doors had closed again, he turned toward her with a timid smile.

"Think this'll do the trick?" he asked. And then as she watched in silence, he placed the jewelry in her palm.

Gillian's face went pale. Ghostly pale, and she raised one hand to her chest as her mouth fell open in surprise. Under any other circumstances, he would've cut the tension with a wisecrack or a laugh or… something… but he didn't. He couldn't. For some strange reason, every smart-assed cell in his brain had gone into hiding as soon as he saw the look on her face.

"Cal, are you…?"

Her tone was a mixed bag of hope and hesitation, and it made him feel like a right plonker for making her think – even for a split second – that he was honestly trying to propose in a lift. Because he wasn't. He wouldn't.

Hell, up until a few days ago the very idea of getting married again wasn't even in his brain at all, much less dancing around in the forefront demanding his attention and looking so damned appealing that it took him as much by surprise as the diamond ring had taken Gillian. And now there they stood, with an engagement ring between them and a hoard of unresolved – yet promising – things to discuss.

Cal let out a deep breath and tried his best to refocus. "No. Not yet. Trust me love, the elevator of a porn studio is no place for such a question to be asked. But we can't very well go in there and pose as a married couple unless we have all the finer details in place, yeah?"

Gillian blinked at him, color slowly coming back into her face. There was the tiniest hint of disappointment, but it was gone as soon as Cal's eyes registered its existence. Then she nodded and took a deep breath, and repeated two of his words. "Finer details?"

He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand and glanced down to see his mother's diamond proudly gracing Gillian's finger. The sight of it took him by surprise, more so than he had expected. But he knew it was a discussion for another time and place, and before he could elaborate at all, the elevator doors opened and they stepped out to wait for their mark.

Cal's mask shifted into place immediately. He was already in character as he pulled Gillian toward his side and leaned over to whisper in her ear. To the people around them, they looked as affectionate as any other couple. Or rather, as any couple who'd come there as prospective clients, and not as a pair of human lie detectors who were discussing the… _finer details_ of their relationship in the lift. And no one in the room was any the wiser when Cal lifted Gillian's hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Just for the record, Gill, that reaction of yours was quite helpful. I'll be filing that one away for future reference, love. You can count on it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>To be continued...<strong>_

_**The Option A / Option B thing will turn up again in a later chapter. Had to plant the seed of it here. Thanks for reading!**_


	36. Chapter 36

There were a hundred different things Gillian wanted to say – about the case, _and_ about their little undercover meeting. Mainly about the fact that Cal had slipped a diamond solitaire on her finger over an hour ago and had yet to utter a single word about it, even though they were alone again in the small confines of his car. But as they sat there, speeding through late morning traffic on the way back to the Group and avoiding the obvious, the words that actually came out of her mouth took them both by surprise.

"Where'd you get that ring, Cal?"

She sounded accusatory and acidic, and she winced at the tone of her own voice, wishing she could bite back the words and swap them for something milder. Because it wasn't as if Cal had done anything wrong. He hadn't. Aside from being sneaky with the details and dropping the whole porn angle on her at the last possible second, no harm had been done.

And she wasn't angry. Far from it, actually. She was just confused.

After ten years with Cal, Gillian had learned to expect the unexpected, but this? _This_ wasn't even in the same realm as "unexpected," and he knew it.

'_Ever think about getting married again, love?'_ What the hell was that, anyway? It was… presumptuous. Something about the way he asked that question had sent chills up her spine and left her hands trembling. Because she _knew_ he was looking for something in her answer. _Weighing_ something. Judging it. And she had no idea what "_it_" was.

She had no idea what he wanted. He'd left her completely in the dark.

Cal gave a sputtered cough; he white knuckled the steering wheel with one hand and wiped his brow with the other. _Was he sweating_? She couldn't tell for sure; but if his reaction was anything to go by, then that ring was definitely a point of contention.

"You're still wearing it, you know."

_She was?_ Gillian blinked and raised her left hand in front of her face, as if she doubted him. But there it was, sparkling up at her proudly. Her mouth ran dry at the sight of it, and suddenly all the comments that had been swirling through her mind a few minutes earlier were gone, leaving her with absolutely no idea what to say in reply.

He hadn't proposed – that much had been clear. But there was something behind all of this; something in his eyes when he'd slipped that ring on her hand that Gillian had not missed. And so she was left feeling in limbo, of sorts. Taking it off and handing it back to him seemed a bit cruel. Keeping it seemed worse, since she knew it wasn't real.

The sentiment, that is. Not the ring. The ring was _definitely_ real.

It was stunning.

_Damn him, anyway._

"I'll take your silence as a bit of a life preserver then, and assume you're not about to kill me."

Gillian rolled her eyes, but her head was turned away from him and she knew Cal hadn't seen it. A beat later, when she finally chanced a glance at him, he was pale. Pale, and yes – definitely sweating. He looked… adorably nervous. More so than she'd ever seen him.

And so, she cracked. The tiniest little smile began to tug at her mouth… starting off as a stubborn pout that shifted into a grin without her permission. At a stoplight, Cal turned toward her and saw it instantly. And as soon as he did, he let out an audible sigh of relief at the realization that she was _not_ about to throttle him. He was safe.

He'd gone from adorably nervous to adorably relieved in two seconds, flat. _Impressive_.

"Yeah, well… you have good taste in jewelry," she said, once the car started to move forward again. "I'll just leave it at that, alright?"

Cal grinned, and a split second later he stole another glance in her direction. "Can I make a suggestion, then?"

She sighed lightly. "Of course you can."

"If you're still serious about keeping our relationship a secret, then you might want to take that ring off sooner, rather than later. Prying eyes, and all that. Trust me love, if you take one step through the front door on my arm _and_ wearing my ring, the reaction will be louder than when we told Emily we'd finally taken things past platonic."

Gillian giggled; he made an excellent point. "That loud, huh?"

He nodded. "That loud."

"Emily squealed, remember?" she asked rhetorically. "She squealed, and shrieked, and jumped up and down, as I recall. And then she launched herself at both of us in a full blown bear hug and with enough force that she nearly knocked us over. You really think our staff will…"

Cal cut her off with one raised hand and a wide smile. "There are bets, Gillian," he said simply, as if it required no explanation. "Lots and lots of bets. Trust me – someone stands to win a lot of money the moment our new arrangement becomes public knowledge."

A silent beat passed as she weighed his words and decided which to focus on first: the idea that their employees were gambling on the state of her sex life, or the fact that Cal had referred to it as a "new arrangement." Interesting word choice, but then again, he didn't have many options. Their relationship didn't exactly fit traditional parameters. It never had.

"I notice you didn't say shagging this time," she offered. "Well played."

Cal gave a nervous laugh, but he didn't risk taking his eyes off the road for longer than a second. His right hand sought Gillian's left, and when he found it, he fingered the band she still wore. It was such an unfamiliar feeling. "Yeah, well, you've got my ring," he offered. "Didn't want to annoy you and risk it being used as a weapon. It's a bloody big diamond, Gill. You could do some serious damage, if you were so inclined."

* * *

><p>Gillian hadn't spoken for several minutes. Not a word, not a syllable… nothing. And as Cal guided the car into the Lightman Group lot, the silence had begun to make him feel uneasy. It was unlike her. Normally, Gillian was the one in her element when it came to the emotional stuff, and he was the one relying on silent communication and body language. Somewhere along the line, they'd swapped. Possibly in the elevator; possibly the moment he'd put that ring on her finger. Maybe it really was too much, too soon. After all, if she wasn't ready to go public with their relationship yet, upping the ante with an undercover marriage and a hefty ring was probably more pressure than either of them needed.<p>

Hindsight really was twenty-twenty. He felt like a jackass.

By the time he killed the engine and unclasped his seatbelt, he was ready to apologize for backing her into a corner. And he got as far as, "Listen, Gillian…" before she slid the jewelry off her finger and pressed it into his palm with a quiet sigh.

Her hand folded around his and she blinked at him – not out of sadness or regret, but rather a calm, quiet resolve. He knew that look well. It was the same one she wore on their very first night together, when she'd taken his hand and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. _Baby steps_, she'd told him. And then she'd said that there was no need for fear, because she knew they'd always take them together.

Just like now.

The look on her face matched the expression she'd worn that night so perfectly that Cal knew exactly what she was trying to say. He read it, and she let him. She welcomed it.

She didn't need to form the words.

Gillian shifted forward a bit – the side of her knee digging into the edge of the center console as she moved – and it occurred to Cal that they were sitting in full view of the lobby. Anyone on their payroll could probably see them, and would no doubt understand that something was up. That something was different. Their body language alone practically gave the game away. And he was just about to voice that to her when she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

Her lips landed squarely on his – just long enough for him to feel the heat from skin – and then she pulled away. She cupped his cheek in her hand and brushed the pad of her thumb along his jaw, and then she smiled. "It's a beautiful ring, Cal."

Five short words, but they spoke volumes.

He blinked and nodded at her, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he searched for an appropriate reply. Something meaningful, that could tie up their conversation in a neat little package – or at least put it on "pause" until they could be sure prying eyes weren't watching their every move. Something that would tell Gillian that they were still on the same page. Still solid. No pressure, no worries.

Baby steps, taken together, just as she'd said that first night.

"Truth?" he asked.

Gillian didn't hesitate. "Always," she answered. "Always truth."

Cal swallowed, and then fished around in his pocket for the small velvet pouch that had held the ring. As he slipped it back inside, he could felt the weight of her gaze on him – studying him. Analyzing. With anyone else, he would have felt vulnerable. But since it was Gillian, he didn't. He felt safe. Confident.

_Peaceful_.

"It was my mum's ring."

Of all the things Gillian had expected to hear, those five words were not on the list. That much was instantly clear. Her face had gone pale, and her mouth dropped open a bit. She was completely stunned.

For a moment, Cal felt the need to ramble. To fill the suddenly overwhelming silence with something. Anything. So long as it was conversation.

But he didn't get far. Her mouth was on his a second later… desperate and determined. She moved frantically, stroking her tongue against his as her hands rose up to frame his face. Her arms soon wound around his neck and she pulled, bringing his body as close to hers as possible without actually climbing over the console and into his lap. Not that he would've minded, of course.

He wouldn't have minded at all.

Moments later – when the nagging hand of reality began to creep in and shake him from his distraction – Cal became hyper aware of their situation. He pulled his lips away from Gillian's on a groan, then rested his forehead against hers as they both slowed their breathing.

"So much for privacy, yeah?" he joked. He cocked his head toward the front window, in the direction of the small group of people that were staring at them from inside the lobby.

All bets were off, indeed.

Gillian laughed then, loud and long. And then for good measure, she leaned in pecked his lips again. "Screw the privacy, Cal. This is much more fun."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: More to come, but it's wrapping up soon. Most likely 3 chapters, max. Thanks for reading / reviewing - I appreciate it more than you know. :)**_


	37. Chapter 37

In the years since their partnership began, Cal Lightman had carefully crafted the art of staring at Gillian Foster. It was the little things, mostly. Peering at her from over his glasses when they leaned in to study a case file… always aiming for the last word in a conversation, just as an excuse to get her to turn her attention back to him before walking away. And his favorite: invading her personal space a thousand times – all under the guise of pushing her buttons – just for the sheer enjoyment of being closer to her. And it had always been low-key, to the point that she often had no idea he'd done it at all. Or at least, she had no idea he'd done it _on purpose_.

But he did. He always did.

There was no denying that Gillian was beautiful. Because she _was_; inside and out. She was beautiful and sexy in this understated, yet oh-so-perfect-for-him way that set Cal's pulse flaring and his adrenaline pumping every time he saw her. _Every single time_. And now that he had the benefit of hindsight in his back pocket, he wondered how he'd managed to resist her for so long. How it was possible to have spent years being flooded by fear and denial, even when the rest of his body practically craved her.

That's what had drawn him there, to the darkened spot outside her office door hours after everyone else had already gone home. _The craving_. His intrinsic need to be near her.

If anything, it had only gotten stronger since the night they'd first…

"It was Heidi, wasn't it?"

Gillian's voice echoed through the otherwise silent room and caught him off guard. He'd been standing there for several moments now, just watching her. Admiring the length of her legs and the height of her heels, and how each complimented the other in such an absolute perfect way. It was one of his favorite developments of the past few weeks; the fact that he didn't have to hide his attraction anymore. That he could stare openly, if he wanted to; because she was beautiful, and because she was his, and because he'd been denied the chance to do it for so many years.

He tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain, but she swiveled abruptly and faced him before he had the chance to think of a reply. She looked amused. As if she'd known he was there all along and had just been indulging him. Humoring him.

"You're staring," she said. Her eyebrows were raised in a knowing smirk, and he nodded at her. _Yep… busted_.

He shrugged, and then strode through the doorway. His hands were shoved casually in his pockets, but nervous tension made him fidget. He felt wired; partly the adrenaline rush that came with closing a case. Partly his body's natural reaction to her. "You're worth it."

A beat later, Cal crossed to the couch and flopped across the end nearest Gillian's desk. His body was squared toward hers, and he opened one arm in invitation. "Come 'ere?" he offered. He didn't mean to pose it as a question, but his voice pitched upward at the end anyway, making it sound like one. The look on her face was making him feel a bit… exposed. As if he was about to become the butt of some private, inside joke. She looked for the world like the cat that ate the canary.

Gillian did not move. "Are you going to answer my question?" she said. "Or just try to distract me again?"

Her sly smile gave him pause, and he swallowed. _Visibly_. Yes… she definitely had a secret.

"I was hoping for the later, love," he said, trying to knock her off her game. "Distracting you is much more fun than office gossip, yeah?"

Gillian's smile widened. She leaned forward slowly, propping her elbows on the desk and giving him an eyeful of her cleavage in the process. His gaze was drawn there instinctively, just as she'd wanted. Tricky, she was; and a master at distraction in her own right.

"You were hoping for the later… or the _ladder_? _As in_, the wooden ladder in your study. _As in_, the wooden ladder in your study that somehow wound up on Loker's clever little betting sheets?"

Embarrassment flooded Cal's face for a brief moment and then it was gone. In its place came a smile that matched the smugness in hers. Because he had no reason to feel uncomfortable about his harmless little fantasy; none at all. The rules were different now, and they both knew it. "Saw them, did you?" he asked. He bared his teeth at her in a wolfish smile, and to his surprise she did the same. _Cat… mouse_. Suddenly he wasn't sure which one of them was which.

Gillian was on her feet a second later, and right on cue his pulse accelerated. She wore those heels so very well.

She strode toward him slowly, enjoying the look that passed over his face as she moved. Inches from where he sat, she finally stopped. He could've touched her if he wanted to. And _bloody hell_, he wanted to; instinct just told him to wait. Pace himself. Hear her out first.

"Of course I saw them," she breathed. "Can't say I was entirely surprised to find your name there, either. We all know how you are when it comes to gambling."

She was looking at him with the oddest expression – practically daring him to touch her. Trying to play coy, but failing nonetheless. He knew the feeling well.

"It's you and me, Gill," he answered, finally giving in to desire and stroking his fingertips along the back of her knee. "My favorite kind of bet."

His reward was a shiver; so slight that he would not have noticed it on anyone else, but on Gillian? He didn't miss it. A beat later, she took her place on the couch with him, relaxing her body against his and angling so that she fit the space perfectly. She always did that; _they_ always did that. They were always a perfect fit. The setting didn't matter at all.

"I broke up an impromptu little celebration party in the kitchen this afternoon," she explained. One of Cal's hands came to rest on her shoulder as she spoke, and the other landed on her knee. "Loker, Torres, Heidi… all of them. You'd think by now they would have learned to be a bit more discreet, but no. Not at all. A big wad of cash and a bunch of hushed laughter is about as indiscreet as a flashing neon sign."

"Shall I fire them for you?" he joked, his hand stirring into motion on her knee. "'Cause I can do that, you know. You just give the word and poof… they're out the door."

Gillian laughed. It was light-hearted and airy, and the sound made him feel warm inside. _Good lord, he was turning into a sap._ _A bleeding romantic, even_.

"Just like that, huh?" she said.

She snuggled further into him, resting her head against his shoulder, and he began to stroke his knuckles against the expanse of her neck. "Just like that. Take it as one of the many, many advantages of being the boss."

Cal heard her give a soft snort of protest, trying not to laugh at him. "If you need my approval to do it, then doesn't that mean that _I'm_ the boss?" she offered.

He stilled his hand; well played. "Fair point," he admitted. "And I stand corrected. _We're_ the boss, then. Both of us. Fifty-fifty, yeah?"

"Fifty-fifty," she agreed. She twined her fingers with his, and gave his hand a small squeeze. "But just for the record, I don't think we can fire the staff for making bets about our sex lives when _you_ were in on the action yourself. That would be a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"S'pose so, love. And by the way, the answer to your question is '_yes_.' Heidi won. Wish I could've seen the look on Loker's face when he had to hand over all that money. Bloke was so sure he'd be the winner. All those crazy ideas he had… there were some royal winners in there, Gill. Did you read them?"

She nodded. "None were as crazy as your ladder idea, though. That one topped them all, hands down."

Gillian's voice had taken on an air of smugness once again, and he wondered if there was a punch line she hadn't dropped yet. "Is that your clever way of giving me a big, fat no, then? 'Cause I'm not sure you're giving my idea a fair consideration. It's not crazy at all… it's creative. And there's a lot to be said for creativity, yeah? Bit of spontaneity is good for any relationship."

She turned toward him then, twisting at the waist so that they were face to face instead of being spooned together with his arm around her shoulders. And then she tossed him a playful, frisky look as she cupped his face in her hands and leaned toward his mouth. Her eyes were gleaming.

"Rest assured, Cal… whenever that particular fantasy _does_ come to fruition, I guarantee you it will be a spontaneous decision."

As his mouth dropped open in surprise, she moved even closer. Her words were a heated whisper against his skin. "Remember what I told you earlier? I meant every word. I'm just full of surprises."

Cal wasn't sure which one of them leaned in first – maybe it was simultaneous, maybe not. But the specifics didn't matter. As their lips connected and the kiss gradually deepened, the desire coursing through his veins told him all he needed to know. They were together… _truly together_. Personally and professionally. And they really were partners. Fifty-fifty, in everything.

When they finally broke apart, Gillian leaned her forehead against his and let out a slow, satisfied sigh. "Take me home?" she asked quietly.

Cal gave a small nod. "My place or yours, love?"

And even as he posed the question, he couldn't help but hope for a time when they wouldn't have to make the distinction. When "_home_" meant only one thing. _Their_ home. Together.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: At least two more chapters coming... thanks to all of you for sticking with me! I appreciate it!** _


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Nasty storms knocked our electric out for a few days, but better late than never, right? Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>It had been almost six months since Cal slipped that diamond ring on Gillian's finger and <em>not<em> proposed to her. Six months of waiting and analyzing and second-guessing, every single time he was left alone with nothing but his thoughts for entertainment. And quite frankly, the indecision was killing him.

The pattern was always the same. He'd get a strange, nervous feeling in his stomach, followed a string of unanswerable questions that never failed to pit his better judgment against some kind of cosmic deadline. Kind of like the whole "biological clock" sensation that women sometimes feel, but on a different scale. And the longer he waited – the more months that passed by without a decision being made – the louder that clock seemed to tick.

'_It's only been a month; that's way too soon.'_

'_It's only been three months; that's still way too soon.'_

And then – and this was his personal favorite – his subconscious started to make insults, saying '_it's been six months, you pathetic wanker, get your act together and ask her already_.'

Pitiful, he was. A grown man, completely and totally in love with a woman who was utterly perfect for him, and he couldn't find the backbone to ask her one specific four-word question. 'Will you marry me?' Just four short words. And the longer he waited, and the more pressure he put on himself to do everything perfectly – to present her with some grand, romantic gesture that would knock her socks off – the higher his stress level rose.

The ring was always close at hand. Always. Cal must've looked at it at least a thousand times since that fateful day in the elevator when he first placed it on her finger. It was funny how he felt a completely different level of anxiety back then. Because _that_ – although awkward and nerve-wracking in its own right – wasn't permanent. It was for effect, mostly. Just one of the finer details he'd needed to iron out before their meeting.

No one else had ever worn it; hence his nervousness. Not Zoe… not even Emily. And that knowledge just made his indecision worse. He had two choices: he could present Gillian with a new ring – one without baggage or expectation – or _that_ ring. One with history and sentimental value. As strange as it sounded, Cal felt like he was waiting for a sign. Not a sign that he was ready to marry Gillian, of course; he'd known that for quite some time. He wanted a sign about that ring; something that would tell him, absolutely and without a single doubt, that his mother's ring would _still_ be the right fit.

_Bloody hell_. Six months ago – with a generic diamond he'd borrowed from a local store in one pocket, and his mother's ring in the other – he stood in that elevator and made a clear-cut decision. But now? Now it was… different. It was permanent. And when he finally did kneel in front of Gillian, with his heart on his sleeve and his future in her hands, the last thing he wanted to read was disappointment.

* * *

><p>The unexpected slam of the back door jarred Cal into action and he quickly stashed the ring in its pouch, and then slipped it back in its customary spot in his pocket. Granted, it probably wasn't the best hiding place – especially since Gillian occasionally did his washing – but so far, so good.<p>

He knew it was Emily; the slam told him as much. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that yes, she was home early; and truth be told, he was thankful to have her company. He missed her. It seemed they never had enough time together – and what they did have was growing shorter, what with college boards and the stress of the school term hanging over her head. She'd be leaving the nest soon enough – bound for Berkley, most likely. The feeling was bittersweet.

Cal was on his feet and flying down the stairs to join his daughter before she had the chance to come looking for him. Just as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Emily emerged from the refrigerator with an armload of different items. Deli meat, cheese, tomatoes, dressing… the works. His stomach grumbled at the sight and it was only _then_ that he realized he'd forgotten dinner.

"You're home early," he said, sliding onto one of the stools that faced her. "Hungry, I take it?"

She nodded, tossed him a warm smile, and reached into the cabinet for two plates without needing to ask if he wanted a sandwich as well. Smart girl, she was. "Starved," Emily answered enthusiastically. "All that studying really works up an appetite, you know."

Cal smiled back, and offered her a half-serious, but mostly teasing quip. "So long as it was just studying, yeah?"

She sighed, knife hovering over a tomato, and rolled her eyes at him. "As opposed to what, dad? Hooking up with some random guy in the middle of the library? Because that sounds exactly like something I'd do, doesn't it? I am a Lightman, after all. Discretion isn't exactly built into our DNA."

"Oi!" he called. He threw his hand over his chest in an exaggerated gesture, as if her comment stung. "That one hurts, Em. Truly, truly hurts."

A beat later she was back to the tomato, and he could see the traces of a grin that was mostly hidden behind her hair. Cheeky, she was. She took after him that way. It was one of the many things he'd miss about her when she left for school.

"Liar," she called. Her gin widened then, and she added casually, "Lucky for you, Gillian and I happen to love you anyway."

Cal smiled. He was a lucky man, indeed.

* * *

><p>An hour later, once the kitchen had been straightened and the dishes set to wash, Cal and Emily wandered into the living room. They sat on the couch – each taking up one end – without any real plans or agenda at all. And though the television blared in the background, neither paid it any attention. Surrounded by silence, Cal couldn't help but think that his house hadn't seemed so quiet in ages. It was… unsettling. Heavy. Like the building itself missed Gillian.<p>

A morbid thought, considering she was only out with a few girlfriends for the evening, but still. The whole 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' thing? Yeah. That summed it up nicely.

Emily kicked her feet up on the coffee table and slouched down further into the cushions. She fiddled with the remote for a few minutes, but eventually tossed it onto the space between them and looked away from the screen. "You'll have to thank Gill for me, okay?" she offered. "It's nice finding something besides baked beans in the cabinets around here. At least I know you won't starve to death while I'm away at school."

And there it was… the proverbial pink elephant he didn't want to acknowledge. Deciding to make a joke instead of wax poetic about how much he was going to miss her, Cal threw her a cheeky grin. "Or, you could always stay and watch out for me yourself. Because I've been told it's a big, big job, Em. Too big for Gillian to handle alone. So the three of us can make a deal, yeah? She'll handle things at the office – make sure I'm behaving myself and that I come home in one piece every day – and you'll supervise things here. The eating and curfew type things. Keep me on the straight and narrow. Deal?"

She smiled, then tossed a throw pillow at him and stuck out her chin in mock annoyance. "I know that's your way of telling me you're going to miss me, so thank you. But seriously… something tells me Gillian is more than qualified to handle you. She know your brand of craziness better than anyone, dad. Even better than me. You'll be fine. Both of you."

Cal sighed. Sometimes it was hard to believe his little girl was nearly grown. Change was all around them. College for Emily… his future with Gillian… marriage, if he played his cards right. It was all a bit overwhelming. Scary and wonderful, all at the same time. And he _would_ be fine, right? Emily certainly thought so.

Cal knew – he positively _knew_ – that the responsible, grown-up thing he needed to do in that moment was agree with her. Assuage her own doubts and fears and nerves. Because he knew she had them, too. But in the end he said nothing. Not a sentence… not a word… not a syllable. Nothing. Instead, he simply sat there – sighing under the weight of his own thoughts and squeezing that throw pillow like it was some kind of bleeding life preserver.

Realization fanned over Emily's expression, and within seconds she was waving her finger around his face like he'd grown a second head. "You're scared," she said. It wasn't a question. It didn't need to be; the answer was obvious.

Cal's expression softened into reluctant admission but he didn't say anything. _Scared_? _Him_? How did she jump to that so quickly?

He knew better than to waste words trying to deny the obvious, so he continued sitting there in silence instead. Letting her do all the talking was the easy way out, but it was also the riskiest. Emily was by no means a natural, but she _did_ know him better than almost everyone else in the world. Second only to Gillian.

Emily was squinting at him a bit – studying him like a puzzle that was still clicking into place. It was ironic, really, since he studied people like that all the time. A part of him thought he rather deserved the scrutiny.

"There's more to it than just school, isn't there?" she somberly asked. "I mean, school is a big part of it, but still… you're Cal Lightman. Scientist extraordinaire. A man who has literally laughed in the face of danger without blinking an eye. So whatever this is, it's… _different_. It's deeper."

Cal's eyes went wide. So much for a casual evening with Emily, sharing small talk and overstuffed sandwiches. He hadn't expected it to turn serious. Hadn't expected to be on the receiving end of a psychoanalytical lecture from a teenager about what he did or did not fear. He felt for the world like the tables had flipped – like he was the student, and she was the expert.

And so it was with only a hint of exaggeration that he narrowed his eyes at her and let out a gruff sigh. "Bloody hell, Emily. We should've put you on the payroll years ago. You sure you've got your heart set on California, love? 'Cause I'm serious. I'll boot Loker right out the door and give you his lab… the whole nine yards."

"Dad…" she warned. There was a laugh behind her smile that soon became contagious, and a beat later Cal was chuckling under his breath. "Deflection won't work on me this time, and you know it."

"So I'm a bleeding coward, then?" he quipped. "That about cover it?" The edge of humor in his voice was intentional – his way of keeping things as light as possible, even though the subject matter was anything but. It was another form of deflection, really, but she didn't call him on it. She smiled instead; it was warm and bright and without the slightest trace of judgment at all.

"Remember what you used to tell me when I was little? That sometimes when things look rough, you just have to change your perspective. Find a way to see the situation differently, and then maybe it'll look brighter."

Cal blinked at her, surprised. It had been ages ago…

"You remember that?"

She nodded, still wearing the same warm smile. "You told me that change doesn't have to be a bad thing. And even though it's perfectly healthy to be afraid sometimes, in the end you just have to swallow that fear, close your eyes, and jump."

The longer he watched Emily – with her calming words and caring disposition – the more he felt the tension slowly drain out of him. Maybe she _was_ right. Maybe a bit of fear really _was_ healthy. He could do this. He could watch his only daughter leave home to chase her dreams, and he would still be alright because he had one of his own to chase as well. With Gillian.

Cal shifted upwards in his seat, altering his posture to match his newly gained confidence. "Swallow the fear, then?" he repeated. "It's as simple as that?"

"Simple as that. And just for the record, I meant what I said earlier. I know you'll be fine. And whenever you _do_ decide to jump, don't worry. Gillian will be right there to catch you."

"She is pretty strong, isn't she?" Cal offered, still trying to joke with her. And though he didn't expect a reply, Emily gave one anyway.

"That's one of the things I love best about her, you know," she said. "She's strong enough to handle you and she's not intimidated by anything. She's her own person. Independent and successful, and one hell of a good friend."

Cal smiled then – an honest to goodness, fully relaxed, lit-up-from-the-inside kind of smile, and he was fully animated once again. His gaze shot across the room to a photo of Gillian, and then he waggled his eyebrows up and down as he studied it. _That_ was the only indication that something cheeky was about to come out of his mouth.

"And she's also one hell of a good…"

Emily held up one hand immediately, turning up her nose and stopping Cal before the next word could slip out of his mouth. "Stop right there," she warned. "Don't you _dare_ complete that sentence. TMI, dad. TMI. There are some things a daughter does not need to hear, and instinct tells me that was about to become one of them. Top five, easy."

In a rare moment of perspective, Cal blushed. He ducked his head a bit and shrugged at her, looking almost shy. "Yeah, well… I can't help it, love. She makes me happy."

Emily rolled her eyes and then grinned; trust her father to bounce from loneliness to fear to happiness in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with him, but instinct told her _'happiness'_ was the mainstay; the anchor. The others were just fleeting insecurity.

"It's a shame more people don't get to see you like this, you know," she said.

The comment caught Cal off guard and the air between them turned serious once again. _Another shift_. When he finally spoke, traces of shy sincerity painted his words. "I don't think I've ever felt like this, yeah? I mean, _you_ make me happy, and Gillian makes me happy, and my work makes me happy. But all of it together? That's a first. And as corny as it sounds to admit this out loud… I feel like I'm on the brink of something here, Emily. Like everything is just a beat away from snapping into focus and that I'll finally have what it's taken me so many years to find. Contentment. Peace. Peace with myself, and with my past."

When his final word was spoken, Emily shuffled closer to her father. She tucked her feet off to the side of the couch and leaned against his shoulder. "She would be proud of you, dad. I hope you know that."

Cal planted a quick kiss to the top of his daughter's head and said – almost as an afterthought - "Gillian and I have come a long way together, love. We're always proud of each other."

Emily shifted her position so she sat upright and faced him, shaking her head as she went. "I wasn't talking about Gill this time," she explained. "I was talking about Grandma. She'd be so proud to see you now. Everything you've built, and everything you've accomplished. And she'd be so happy that you have Gillian beside you. Through better or worse, and all of that. You guys have seen it all and come through it stronger. And even though I never got to meet her, I like to think that Grandma would be proud of that, too."

_And there it was, just when he'd finally stopped looking. A sign._


	39. Chapter 39

Gillian Foster was _not_ jealous. She was _not_. She was just tired, that's all. Short tempered and a little bit stressed – nothing that a bite of chocolate (_or three_) wouldn't cure.

But she was most certainly not jealous.

And she was most certainly _not_ going to that restaurant again. _Ever_.

Gillian sighed. The rational part of her brain knew she was overreacting, but the rest wouldn't stop feeling sorry for itself long enough to listen. It made her feel… unbalanced. Frazzled. And just the tiniest bit crazy. And given the way she'd been treating Cal all morning, she'd be lucky if he was still speaking to her by the end of the day.

What had she expected, anyway? A place with a reputation for being one of the district's most romantic night spots probably sees dozens of proposals a month. She should have known there was a chance she'd bear witness to one of them. And she should've known better than to go there with a handful of girlfriends (married ones, at that), rather than on Cal's arm.

It wasn't the restaurant's fault that newly minted bride-to-be just so happened to be the lovely young woman who'd been sitting across from Gillian and her friends all night. _Or_ that her dashing fiancé looked remarkably like a younger version of Cal. _Or_ that the words that came out of his mouth as he knelt before his intended sounded flawless… completely and utterly perfect. Breathtaking.

And now she knew from experience that the trouble with being the only single woman at a table full of tipsy, well-intentioned friends was that they all wanted to "fix" her.

"_Don't worry, Gillian. Your turn will come soon," _one of them said. Those words of wisdom even came with some sympathetic hand patting and a half smile.

"_Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, right Gill?"_ another quipped. To her credit, though, Gillian did _not_ stoop so low as to point out that people who live in glass houses should not throw stones. After all, Gillian was divorced. _As in_, she'd already been married. Unlike her tipsy friend, she had not stayed unattached and practically virginal until she hit her thirties.

Her personal favorite came near the end of the evening, just as the group was ready to leave. One of her dearest friends wrapped her in an unexpected hug and said – in a low whisper, so that none of the other women could hear –_ "It'll be your turn next, honey. You just need to give Cal a nudge in the right direction first."_

_Riigghhtt_. Because that was exactly what she wanted: engagement via arm-twisting and manipulation. Because nothing says eternity like 'a nudge in the right direction.'

Alright, fine. So what if she was feeling a little bit jealous? That was probably normal. It was probably normal to wish that _she_ was the one with the beautiful ring, and the romance, and the…

_Jesus_. The same string of what-ifs and justifications had been playing in her mind for a solid twelve hours (_less the few she spent tossing in turning in Cal's bed_), and now she was starting to annoy herself. She knew she needed to snap out of it. Stop comparing her life to a stranger's… stop wishing that her situation was different, and start being thankful for what she _did_ have. And so it was with a long, dramatic sigh that she yanked open her bottom desk drawer and pulled out the small, ornately decorated box that was hidden in the back. Godiva truffles: twelve decadent little mouthfuls of bliss.

They were just what the doctor ordered.

* * *

><p>She was halfway through truffle number two (and feeling better by the second) when Cal's voice sing-songed its way through her office and caught her completely off guard. "That's your 'emergency' chocolate, innit love?" he asked, leaning against her doorway with an expression that was half cautious-interest, half self-preservation. As if he wanted to approach her, but he was afraid that she might rip his head off if provoked.<p>

_He was a very smart man. _

Gillian chewed thoughtfully, taking her time to savor the final bite of her second delicate treat before giving him any kind of response. By the time she finally swallowed, he was hanging off the doorframe like it was a life raft; too wary of invading her space to actually step inside the office, and too wary of ignoring her mixed signals to back away entirely. It bore repeating: _he was a very smart man_.

In the end, she opted for passive-aggressive sarcasm, in hopes that would at least keep him at bay. She didn't feel like playing twenty questions with a human lie detector, and she knew that she was on borrowed time before he started _really_ pushing his luck. Asking about each and every muscle twitch that she wasn't able to control, and driving her crazy in the process.

So it was with a tone of mild annoyance that she sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "I'm a grown woman, Cal. If I want to indulge in a mid-morning treat at my desk – emergency or otherwise – then I will. The last time I checked we were still running things fifty-fifty around here. As equals. Which means I don't need your permission for anything, least of all this."

Gillian did not miss the split-second flash of panic that Cal showed, nor did she miss his valiant effort of shifting that same panic into humor. It was a stereotypical "oh shit" moment, when a man knows he's done something wrong – and is now being punished for it – but he has no earthly clue what the transgression actually was. Under different circumstances, his reaction would've been kind of funny.

But now, when she still felt a nagging ball of jealous irrationality building in the pit of her stomach, it wasn't funny at all. All she wanted now was for Cal to read her mind (_not her face_) and somehow understand that it had been six months, damn it. Six whole months since he brought up the topic of marriage, slipped a gorgeous diamond ring on her hand, and did _not_ propose.

And as unreasonable as it sounded, she wanted him to read her mind (_again, not her face_) and magically know what she'd seen last night. That lovely, beautiful, wonderful engagement; a perfect little moment, when there was no doubt and no hesitation. She wanted him to understand that what she wanted, more than anything, was her own perfect little moment. _Their_ own perfect little moment.

"Listen, Gillian, I didn't mean to upset you."

Cal's voice snapped her out of her self-induced fog, and she frowned. There he stood, apologizing when he hadn't even done anything wrong, and she didn't have the decency to tell him why she was upset. He was looking at her with big, puppy dog eyes – his body still leaning against her door frame – and waiting for her to make the next move.

_Shit_. Talk about an unintentional guilt trip; his sad, handsome face got her every time.

She blinked heavily and dropped her hand to the desktop, so that the third truffle she'd snagged rested atop its box. Irrational was an understatement… she was behaving like a hormonal teenager, and she knew it. Her only hope was that Cal would respect her enough to give her a bit of distance until the feelings passed, and then she'd feel more like her normal self again. Happy, carefree Gillian who was in love with her best friend and ate chocolate pudding and slushies as a mid-morning snack. Not obsessive, jealous Gillian who felt the need to weigh the success of her relationship on whether there was or was not a diamond on her all-important finger.

Since she'd been silent for far too long, Cal cleared his throat and took a tentative step inside her office. When the first step went well and she made no move to rip his head (_or any other appendage_) from his body, he took a few more. And by the time he was standing in front of her desk, he'd dropped all signs of the nervousness she knew he must still be feeling and waggled his eyebrows at her instead. He was flirting.

_Cal Lightman was definitely a smart, smart man_. One of his biggest assets was his charm; the stuff practically oozed out of his pores, and he knew when to lay it on thick. Bless his heart for trying to distract her; she took it as his way of showing that he cared.

"Treat at your desk, yeah? Give me credit for not running that one into the ground love. You ought to know better than to dangle an innuendo like that in front of me."

All he had to do was stop right there, and everything would've been fine. But he didn't. Gillian was on the verge of a smile – a legitimate, eye-reaching smile – when his next few sentences stole it right off her face. Without missing a beat, Cal took a few more steps with his trademark swagger and flopped across the end of her sofa with an understated flourish. And then he proceeded to make one of the biggest foot-in-mouth mistakes she'd ever had the privilege to hear.

"Surely they must make a pill for times like these, right? Mood swings and such. Might want to pick up an 'emergency' pack of those, just to keep in there with the chocolate."

Flirting definitely would've been a welcome distraction. Passive-aggressive humor was not. Leave it to Cal to ignore the obvious and step on an invisible landmine instead.

For a brief moment, Gillian tried to calculate just how far up Cal's nose she might be able to shove her ball point pen, if she really put some elbow grease behind it. But he must've seen the slight tightening around her eyes… the way her mouth pursed ever so slightly as she squared her shoulders and shifted forward in her chair… the way she'd begun to white knuckle _said_ ball point pen and hoist it forward in his general direction. And as soon as he put two and two together, he started to backpedal.

"If I grovel long enough, is there any chance at all that you'd let me plead temporary insanity?" he asked. There was no sarcasm in his voice this time – just genuine regret. "Because really, that was a shit thing to say to you, and I'm sorry. It sounded better in my head, yeah? Less… wanker-ish. And if you'd like to tag me with a knock to the back of my skull or a kick to the shin, I wouldn't blame you at all. Just please, Gillian… don't shove that pen up my nose."

And just like that, things shifted back to normal. _Well played_.

Gillian sighed and let her posture relax. "How did you know I was thinking about…"

Before she had the chance to finish, Cal answered with a shrug. "_That_ little impulse was flashing like a neon light. It's the other stuff that gives me trouble, love. You're still my blind spot, remember?"

She gave another sigh as she looked longingly at the still-untouched third truffle and then focused on Cal's face. "Am I really that difficult to read?"

"Probably not for someone else, but for me? It's next to bloody impossible, especially when all the emotional stuff starts swirling about, and I get absolutely paranoid that I'm going to do something that'll send you running in the opposite direction. I've been known to have that effect on women, Gill. Just ask Zoe. Ran like hell away from me, she did. Barely even stopped to look back, other than when Emily was concerned."

"And other than when she wanted to sleep with you, of course."

Cal's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward in his seat so that his elbows rested on his knees and his chin was cupped in one hand. It was his traditional "study Gillian" face. He used it whenever he was completely dumbfounded over something that shot out of her mouth… usually during some kind of minor debate over something harmless. She never failed to surprise him – even after a decade of partnership and six months of… intimate familiarity.

His head cocked to the side, and he pointed one finger at her. "See, right there. _Right there_. I can't tell if that was supposed to be sarcastic-funny, or something more along the lines of 'you've pissed me off again, Lightman, get the hell out of my office.' It's a tossup, really."

When Gillian's only response was to roll her eyes and pick up her abandoned truffle, it was all the confirmation he needed.

"Right," he said, quickly standing up from the couch and crossing to her chair. "Safe to take that as a stern 'don't push your luck,' then?"

She looked up at him, popped the chocolate in her mouth, and gave an exasperated smile when she finally swallowed. "Something like that, yes."

"Plan on telling me what's gotten you so upset?" he tried.

She noted the way he half-cringed as he said it and was flooded with a new wave of guilt. "Probably not."

"You know I'm a face reader, Gill, not a mind reader."

She smiled – genuinely – and reached for his hand. "I know, but it would be a hell of a lot more convenient if you could be both sometimes," she said.

"Kiss?"

Cal sounded so unashamedly hopeful that it broke the last bits of her resolve and left her in giggles a split second later. Damn him, anyway. Boyishly sweet was another of his fortes. He knew how to work it well – even with a single word. "Kiss," she answered.

He stooped to her level, squatting down in front of her chair so that they were nose to nose, and then she cupped his cheek in her palm. "But just for the record, Cal… don't ever ask me to take a 'mood swing pill' again. Or else next time, you'll see me contemplating somewhere besides your nose I could shove things."

A beat later, he bared his teeth in the wolfish grin he always wore when she turned feisty. "Gillian, Gillian, Gillian… have you learned nothing from our little debate? That's a dangerous innuendo, that is. When you start talking about 'shoving things,' my mind tends to wander to places it should not visit during working hours. Tread lightly, love. Sometimes you don't know your own strength."

She felt Cal pull her just the slightest bit closer – almost kissing her, but not quite – and Gillian grinned. It was her own version of 'wolfish;' half seductive, half amused. She nuzzled her cheek against his and then turned back again, so that her lips hovered a millimeter away from Cal's.

"And sometimes you don't know when to quit," she breathed. "You're all about testing limits and pushing boundaries. Sometimes it drives me so crazy I don't know what to do with you."

His reply was instantaneous. "That's an easy one, love. When in doubt, do something naughty. It'll work every time."

And with that, before Cal's words had the chance to settle in the air and _just_ as his lips made contact with Gillian's, they were interrupted by a very loud, very disgusted sounding noise coming somewhere from the hallway. Emily.

"Okay you two, break it up. No one needs to see that here. There are other people in the room now, and one of them just learned a valuable lesson about calling before she pops by this office."

Before either of them had a chance to explain, Emily propped one hand on her hip and turned toward her father with an eye roll and an embarrassed frown. "Seriously, dad? Do people even use the word 'naughty' anymore? It's just… disturbing. And now thanks to you, it's permanently etched in my psyche. So unless you want to drop some serious cash on therapy, do us all a favor and either leave the kinky innuendo at home, or lock the office door. Fair enough?"

To his credit, Cal looked properly chastised. He didn't joke… he didn't gloat. Didn't even make a single off-color comment. Nothing at all. He simply stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and cleared his throat. "And there's my cue to leave. Careful with this one, Emily. Tread lightly and carry chocolate."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: To be continued... ;) The end is in sight, guys, but a few chapters ago when I said it would only be 3 more? Yeah, that was wrong. So I guess I'll stop when I feel like it's properly finished, lol. Till then, hope you all enjoy, and thanks a bunch for the feedback!**_

_**Another side note: I'm going out of town for a few days, so if this doesn't get updated as quickly as usual, don't worry. I haven't abandoned it, I'm just on a little road trip. :)**_


	40. Chapter 40

**_A/N: Sorry this update took so long - I've been out of town. The next one will be faster. :)_**

* * *

><p><em>To his credit, Cal looked properly chastised. He didn't joke... he didn't gloat. Didn't even make a single off-color comment. Nothing at all. He simply stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and cleared his throat. <em> "_And there's my cue to leave. Careful with this one, Emily. Tread lightly and carry chocolate."_

* * *

><p>By the time Cal's footsteps faded into the distance, Gillian was still too embarrassed to look Emily in the eye. Her cheeks were practically flaming. And if she'd had any idea that anyone (<em>let alone Emily<em>) was going to walk in on them, she'd have stopped their little interlude before it got too far out of hand. As in, before she thought about shoving anything _anywhere_. Ballpoint pen up Cal's nose or otherwise.

The thought that Emily might have overheard anything that shot out of Cal's mouth after the phrase "dangerous innuendo" was enough to make her throat run dry. Because there were some things a daughter just couldn't un-hear, and the sound of Cal Lightman using the word "naughty" in _that way_ was definitely at the top of the list.

_Definitely_.

Emily gave an exasperated sigh and gestured out into the hallway, in the direction Cal had just gone. "I'm still not used to that you know," she offered. "Seventeen years I've been living with him, and he never fails to surprise me."

Gillian opened her mouth, hoping to say something in her own defense… some kind of excuse (_temporary insanity sounded like a viable option_) for acting like a hormonal teenager in the middle of the work day, in the middle of her office. But words failed her, and the only thing that came out of her mouth was an exaggerated groan. It was something akin to the noise a person would make if they were busy wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow them. Complete and utter mortification.

Emily wasn't mortified, though. She was laughing.

"Relax, Gillian. If you ask me, that whole 'pen up the nose' bit was pretty brilliant. Knowing my dad, he probably deserved it. And let's face it – you guys aren't exactly subtle. It's not like that's the first time I've seen you two get a little bit… how should I put this?" Emily paused then, scrunching up her face slightly as she searched for the right word.

Gillian winced. A fresh wave of embarrassment flooded her face, and she said – in a whispered, guarded tone - "Delicately, I hope. And _please_, do us both a favor and don't say the word 'naughty.' Otherwise I'm going to need more chocolate."

* * *

><p>Deciding it was best not to risk another interruption, Gillian closed her office door and took a seat on the sofa next to Emily so that she could focus on whatever it was she wanted to discuss, and not the embarrassment that was still circulating through her system. When Emily turned toward her, there was a twinkle in her eyes that Gillian did not miss – it was sympathy, mixed with the faintest glimmer of hope. And it struck her that Cal sometimes wore the exact same expression.<p>

Before she could comment on it, though, Emily cleared her throat and excitedly plowed ahead. She had so much nervous energy that she was practically bouncing off the cushion. "Dad told me where you went for dinner last night," she began. "I don't think he's put two and two together yet, though. He's not exactly up to speed on question popping, but trust me, Gill. I know he'll figure it out eventually."

_What was that, now?_ Whatever she had expected Emily to say, _that_ certainly wasn't it. And so she stuttered and stumbled a bit, trying to sort out all the jumbled words in her mouth before finally – reluctantly – settling on, "figure _what_ out eventually?"

"I'm right, aren't I?" Emily continued. "About the reason you seemed so… _off_... when you came home last night. Come on, Gillian, even I know better than to let a bunch of married women drag me there, to ground zero for all things romantic and traditional. So now the real question is this: are you disappointed because he hasn't asked you _yet_, or disappointed because you think he has no plans to ever ask you _at all_?"

Instead of giving an actual answer, Gillian sighed dramatically. She was trying – as gently as possible – to make a point: _one_, that she really, _really_ didn't want to discuss it at all, and _two_, that she was well aware of how foolish all of this made her look. But unfortunately, Emily didn't take the hint. It was yet another thing she had in common with her father. Both of them had a knack for getting the truth out of people, whether they wanted to tell it or not.

"So how many proposals did you see, anyway?" she continued. "One…? Two…?"

And then, when Gillian's nose automatically wrinkled as soon as Emily spoke the word "_one_," she smiled. _Victory_. "My guess is one, based on the way you just pinged your shoe off the table there and turned up your nose."

For a brief moment, Gillian wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire conversation. She'd wanted a mind-reading Lightman, and voila. One was handed to her on a silver platter. Next time, she'd remember to be more specific when she made those kinds of cosmic requests.

The way Gillian saw it, she had only two options. She could play off Emily's comments as if they meant nothing, or she could come clean. Explain that she had overreacted, and that she'd let her emotions get the better of her, but that the feeling would pass. And that she would never, _ever_, make the mistake of going to that God forsaken restaurant with her married friends again.

She just needed a little lie, that's all. Just a casual white lie that would tie the whole awkward conversation up with a neat little bow. Life would go on, Gillian would get over it, and Cal would… well, Cal would still love her. And she didn't need a diamond ring to understand the way he felt about her. They were together, they were happy, and that was enough. She didn't need anything else.

But before she had the chance to speak, Emily leaned forward with an expression that had Cal Lightman's patent all over it. She squinted her eyes and pointed one finger at Gillian's forehead, and then she grinned. A triumphant, all-knowing grin that was so much like her father's it was eerie.

"I can see that, you know," Emily said. She was still pointing, and now her finger was moving in an excited little circle as she spoke. "That furrow in your above your eyebrows means you're trying to figure out how to lie to me, doesn't it? Nothing major, I'm sure. Probably just some kind of little white lie to make yourself feel better. But It won't work, Gill. I'm a Lightman, remember? And a girl doesn't grow up with Dr. Cal Lightman for a father without picking up more than her fair share of face-reading skills."

Gillian rolled her eyes; partly as a deflection, and partly because the whole situation was just ridiculous. In the past twenty four hours she'd been depressed, humiliated, angry, agitated, and now she was being read by a teenage girl who seemed to have more insight into her current feelings than her own boyfriend did. And then as soon as that word jumped into her head – _boyfriend_ – she almost laughed. They really, really needed to find another label for it, because quite frankly, '_boyfriend'_ didn't cover it at all.

Just then, Emily reached over and patted Gillian on the hand. It was a soothing gesture; one that made her distinctly aware that this was Cal's daughter she was sitting with, and that she probably shouldn't be talking about engagements, or proposals, or anything of the sort if she didn't have enough of a backbone to discuss it with Cal himself. But Emily's insight was much faster than Gillian's good sense, and it took only a matter of minutes before Emily's big, puppy dog eyes worked their magic and she felt the dam begin to crack.

On a sigh, Gillian said, "I didn't expect to feel…"

There was a change in Gillian's posture then – so slight that most people wouldn't have noticed it at all, but Emily did. She read it loud and clear. She read the sad frown, the downcast eyes, and the tension she still carried in her frame, and then the pieces came together in no time at all.

Gillian Foster was afraid.

She was afraid of the depth of her own feelings.

And strangely enough, that was the same demon Cal had been battling for years. The same one she knew he _still_ battled, at least where Gillian was concerned. His innate fear that somehow, someway, he'd ultimately screw everything up and end up alone.

* * *

><p>Emily had grown uncharacteristically quiet. In the matter of a few short seconds her demeanor shifted from nervous energy to cautious restraint, and now she was almost timid. As if she was about to divulge a big secret. Her eyes were wide and soulful, and she was looking at Gillian so intently that it almost made her paranoid. And just as she started to think that maybe... <em>just maybe<em>... this whole conversation was not such a good idea, Emily finally spoke.

"The way he feels about you?" she began. The hesitation in her voice turned the words into a question, and Gillian had the passing thought that she should probably chime in with something – anything - to assuage her doubts. Because _of course_ she knew how Cal felt about her_. Of course_ she knew he loved her.

But then Emily repeated cleared her throat and started to speak again, and the chance was lost. "The way he feels about you, Gillian… it's bigger than he can probably ever explain. And believe me, he's tried. The words just aren't there, because I don't think anyone has even invented the right words to describe how much he loves you."

It was only _then_ that hindsight began to kick in, and Gillian got an inkling of what this whole conversation was really about. It wasn't about that restaurant at all. It wasn't about embarrassment, or emotional feelings, or emergency chocolate, or anything trivial. It was about Cal. About how he was feeling. And even though he probably didn't have the words or the patience to try and explain it himself, Emily did. Because she loved them both.

Emily looked at Gillian with big, trusting eyes. She took another deep breath, and then – with as much sincerity as she'd ever seen from anyone – Emily said, "Please don't let him scare you away."

If ever a comment had pulled at Gillian's heartstrings, it was then. She felt her stomach jump up into her chest and her throat run dry, and she literally reeled back a bit, totally surprised by the look of genuine worry that was on Emily's face. So much for lighthearted humor; now that they were getting to the root of everything, she saw the real reason for Emily's visit. And it was fear.

_Of course_ she was worried. _Of course_ she was worried about Cal. Hell, Emily wasn't blind. She'd been sitting right there in that living room the night before, when Gillian wandered in – all cranky and defensive and practically jumping down Cal's throat. And the poor guy hadn't done anything wrong; all he'd wanted to do was talk to her. He'd been nervous and jittery, and wouldn't stop fidgeting with something in his pocket for longer than a thirty second stretch… but otherwise, everything was fine. _She _had been the one who brushed him away and stalked up the stairs to bed without so much as a second glance. She'd been too caught up in her own depression to take the time to treat him fairly. _Hindsight was a real bitch_.

"Emily, listen, the last thing I ever meant to do was make your father feel..."

Before she had the chance to finish, Emily sniffled and sighed and waved the comment away. "I know," she offered. "I just worry about him, that's all. He's been so happy, Gill… so unbelievably happy, and _that's_ what I was talking about when I said he never fails to surprise me. It's the happiness. I've never seen him like this before. Ever. And I just don't want him to get…"

_Hurt_. That was the unspoken word that hung between them. Emily didn't want him to get hurt.

And it was that precise moment when Gillian decided that nervous tension was a very funny thing. It could leave a person feeling nauseous and jittery one second, and the next – when the walls inevitably crumbled – utterly and completely relieved, as if the clouds had lifted.

_That_ was exactly how she felt; like the clouds had finally lifted. She'd spent the entire morning feeling as if her brain was one big snow globe that someone had rattled too hard. Like all her broken thoughts were just floating around out there and she was just waiting for them to settle so that everything made sense. And just like that… with a few heartfelt comments from Cal's daughter… they did. They settled.

She felt calm.

Gillian took hold of Emily's hands and squeezed, trying to reassure the girl through her gestures as well as her words. "I'm in love with him, Emily. With all of my heart. And I'm not going anywhere."

It was only _then_ that Emily started to relax. She gave a sigh of relief and sank backwards into the sofa cushions, and it occurred to Gillian that all of her erratic, emotional behavior from the night before had probably caused more worry for Emily than for Cal. And then all of a sudden, _she_ was the animated one. _She_ was the one full of pent up energy and emotion, and quite frankly, she didn't care who overheard their conversation. Hell, she didn't care if Cal himself walked right into that room and stood between them, analyzing every single muscle in her face and inflection in her voice. She'd gladly let him.

Without so much as a split-second pause, Gillian walked directly to her office door and opened it wide, practically daring someone to listen. Then she turned to Emily and did her best to assuage the last traces of any lingering doubts.

"Did your father ever tell you about the day he and I met?" she began. "I know I must've asked him at least a dozen questions during that first appointment, but there's one that sticks out in my mind, even after all this time. I looked at him – with his fancy government suit and his tense expression, and the frown he always wore just to keep people at bay – and I said, '_What is it that you need, Doctor Lightman_?' That's all. It was just a basic assessment question that I used to ask all my new patients. And almost all of them gave the same answer: that they needed more money, or more prestige, or more recognition. But not your father. He was different. He looked me straight in the eyes, and as calmly as possible he gave me the answer I've never forgotten."

Emily's eyes were wide now, and she was studying Gillian's face with a look of complete trust. Even though she had no idea where this little trip down memory lane would take them, she trusted Gillian enough to know that somehow, it would all make perfect sense in the end.

"He said, 'I _need faith, Doctor Foster. I need people to have faith in me. In my ability, and my science, and in my heart_.' And just for the record, Emily? I've always had faith in him. _Always_. And I always will."

Gillian was too caught up in her own memory to notice the way that Emily's eyes shot toward the doorway as she spoke. She didn't notice the bright smile on the girl's face that would've told her – if only she'd seen it – that Cal was standing _right there_; just a few short feet away and attentively hanging on every single word she said.

Emily gave away nothing. Not the way her father's face lit up in complete and utter happiness as he listed to Gillian talk about having faith in him… or the fact that it was all he could do to hold himself still in that hallway, and not rush up from behind her and sweep her into a hug. Gillian had no idea at all. None.

And then just when Emily thought the story was finished – just as Cal began to walk away, still unseen and as silent as he could possibly be – Gillian smiled and brought one hand to cover her heart. She wasn't finished at all.

"It's overwhelming, sometimes," Gillian continued. "The way I feel about him? Sometimes it's bigger than I can explain, too. And sometimes the words aren't there for me, either. But there is one that comes pretty close. And I feel it almost every single time I'm with him."

In the distance, Emily caught sight of her father as he slowly turned and walked back toward the door. As his face came into view around the corner of the doorframe, his expression was pure joy.

"What is it?" she asked, struggling not to give anything away. "What word comes that close?"

Gillian's smile grew wider then, until it was an exact match of Cal's as he stood behind her. They were both radiant and beaming. Completely content.

A beat later, Gillian's voice rang out confident and steady, without a trace of doubt or hesitation. "It's '_forever_,'" she said. "That's what I want with him, Emily. Forever."


	41. Chapter 41

There had been exactly four times in Cal Lightman's life when he could count himself as being completely, joyfully happy – to the point that he could feel all of the emotion bubbling up inside of him like an overwhelming wave that threatened to overtake his body and send him running around like a deflating balloon, all manic and aimless. Shouting and waving his arms and telling anyone that would listen that everything in his entire world felt right; that he felt complete. Whole. _Indestructible_.

Emily's birth was, of course, at the top of the list. But the other three? All of them – _all of them_ – were Gillian.

And the way he felt right then? Indestructible might've been an understatement.

Standing there in that hallway, listening as the woman he loved with his entire soul said the word "_forever_," Cal felt as though he might actually combust. Adrenaline, joy, relief, passion, and an irresistible, all-consuming energy suddenly mixed together and shot through his system like lightning. Instinct urged him to grab her… to sweep her into his arms and tell her, then and there, that forever could never be long enough.

But for all the times that he imagined it – the ultimate moment when he would finally be able to ask those four little words that had been on the tip of his tongue for months – he didn't want an audience. Not Loker, or Torres, or any of the dozen other employees that would no doubt flock to the scene as quickly as they had in the beginning, when his lips first claimed Gillian's in that heated hallway embrace. He wanted privacy; he wanted her to understand that for him, in _that moment_, the entire world boiled down to just the two of them. No one else.

Sure, he'd thought about doing things differently. Making a rather big spectacle out of the entire event… taking her to a fancy, candlelit restaurant that was the epitome of every cliché that he'd ever seen. Gillian was a romantic at heart, after all; she would no doubt think it was sweet and charming, and picture him in some kind of white knight aura that would be – in all fairness – highly arousing. And he'd even gotten so far as to book a reservation at one of the best spots in the District, with every intention of popping the big question over a bottle of champagne and a hundred cheerful onlookers.

But in the end, something held him back; a gnawing, nagging sense that it just wasn't "them." That it just didn't fit. And after last night, when Gillian came home cranky as hell after spending the evening in the very same restaurant where he'd been planning to propose, he knew he'd made the right decision. That in the end, their moment should be just that: _theirs_. To share it with an audience – even a well-intentioned one filled with people who loved them – made it about less about "Cal and Gillian" and more about the crowd. What _the crowd_ thought of everything… what _the crowd's_ opinion was about the words he spoke, or the look on his face, or the size of the diamond.

And as he stole away unseen by everyone but Emily, he knew exactly what he wanted to do; exactly what to say, and how to say it. Popping the question would be the easy part. Waiting the final few hours? _That_ would be bloody well next to impossible.

* * *

><p>"I hope I didn't step on your toes back there."<p>

The comment jarred Cal from his daydream, and he swiveled in his chair to find his daughter looking sheepish and shy as she closed his office door behind her. And out of sheer habit alone, Cal _tried_ to stay stone faced. He _tried_ to sit there and pretend that he had no idea what she was talking about – tried to keep his smile at bay and his enthusiasm to a minimum as he waited for her to finish with whatever speech had brought her to his office in the first place.

But he failed.

Emily had gotten mere feet from his door when his body involuntarily shot up out of the chair and flew across the room, and then before his brain could register what he was doing – or how loudly he was probably doing it – Cal let loose with an elated cry and spun Emily around in a bear hug.

When he finally stepped back, grinning like a goon and so energized he was practically shaking, the expression on her face was priceless. She was speechless. Slack jawed and wide eyed for the first few seconds, and before she had the chance to say another word, he burst forward with one final, tight squeeze. Leftover adrenaline; he had it in spades.

"Step on my toes, Em? That's crazy talk, that is. In fact, this would be a bloody fantastic time to ask me for a pony, or a puppy, or a new car, or anything else your teenaged heart desires because what happened back there ranks as one of the best moments of my entire life. When I heard Gillian say that she wanted to… that she honestly wanted to…"

Cal was so caught up in his own excitement that he'd actually dropped into manic stuttering, and Emily laughed. She'd never seen him this way. Not ever. "I think the word you're looking for is 'marry.' And _please, please, please,_ tell me you're ready to ask her. Or at least, that you're close to ready. Because I swear to God, dad, that woman is the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you two deserve to be happy. _I_ love Gillian, and _you_ love Gillian, and I don't want to hear a single word about you being afraid. Don't you dare try to tell me that you aren't good enough for her, or that you're worried about screwing it up. Not a single word. No bullshit excuses, okay? Just do it."

And with that, Emily crossed her arms over her chest and gave a half nod to punctuate the end of her little outburst. Her determination made him grin and he said – with a sly little 'cat that ate the canary' expression – "No bullshit excuses, huh? That's kind of catchy, actually. Someone ought to sell that. Print it up on a bunch of shirts like Nike with their "Just Do It," slogan. And if I put them both together, well then that's really something. _'No bullshit excuses. Just do it._' Marketing genius, that is."

It was the telltale twinkle in his eye that gave him away. That, and the way he started to fidget and bounce all over his office, like a child who'd eaten way too much sugar. He was filled with rampant excitement that refused to let him hold still. And it took only a few seconds before Emily began to follow along behind him, his energy positively contagious as the pieces fell into place.

"You _knew_, didn't you? Last night when Gill came home feeling like crap and getting annoyed at every word you said, you knew exactly why she was upset, didn't you?"

Cal stilled at that, considering it for a moment. Actually no, until that very second he _didn't_ know why Gillian had been upset. But now – with Emily going all accusatory and high-strung on him, he had a pretty good idea. Gill had gone to _that_ restaurant, after all; the one he'd been planning to use for his proposal. The place was practically a brick and mortar version of Casanova himself, all romantic and candlelit and swoon worthy. And she'd gone there with her girlfriends… not him. Her _married_ girlfriends, at that. And as he stood there putting two and two together, suddenly her little quip about feeling like a charity case made perfect sense.

"_I might as well have been a charity case, Cal. And mark my words, the next time any of those friends of mine want to drag me down to that God forsaken restaurant, it'll be 'my turn' to give each of them 'a nudge in the right direction' and tell them all to kiss my spinster arse."_

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, he now understood that 'spinster' had been the important word in Gillian's comment last night. But it just so happened that when she said it, they'd been side by side in bed and he'd been distracted by the wispy black gown she'd thrown on after her shower – and by the way she kept ignoring all of his attempts to get her _out_ of that wispy black gown – and like an idiot, he focused on the fact that she'd said "arse." Just like him, accent and all.

No wonder she didn't want to come right out and tell him what was wrong. What woman would? What woman in her right mind would walk up to her boyfriend and casually blurt out, "_Listen, if you could just cut out all the nonsense and propose already, that would be great. This waiting game? It kind of sucks_." And then as soon as that word popped into his brain – _boyfriend_ – he laughed. They really, really needed to find another label for it, because that didn't cover it at all. It hadn't ever come close.

Emily's hand was propped up on her hip and her eyes were narrowed in a look that practically screamed,_ "You've finally lost your mind." _But instead of making a joke at her father's expense, she said, "I'll take that as a 'no' then. And I'll assume that really weird face you're making means that you'd rather not tell me whatever it is that just popped into your brain. So thank you, I think. Because I probably don't want to know all the details."

"Oh really?" he said suddenly, pulling his eyebrows up until they were practically off his face altogether. "No details, huh? That's a pity, love. A real pity." And then before Emily could say another word – not a single sarcastic, well-timed word about what she'd nearly caught him doing with Gillian earlier that morning, Cal reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black pouch that he'd been carrying around nearly every single day for the last six months.

"Because something tells me that _this_ is one detail you might really like to hear."

Emily's reaction was rather comical. It was a mix of stunned silence and unexpected joy, as if she was afraid to let herself congratulate him just in case she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. So instead she just stood there glancing back and forth between the pouch in Cal's palm, and the confident smile that was stretched across his face. And when he made no move to speak for himself, she started to fidget.

"What's in the bag, dad?" she said excitedly.

Cal bounced innocently on the balls of his feet. "You mean this bag?" he answered. And honestly, nervous or not… overwhelmingly, manically happy or not… he was still Cal Lightman and 'smart ass' was practically coded into his DNA. It was just in his nature, and Emily knew it.

She rolled her eyes, but softened the gesture with a giggle. "Do _not_ make me hurt you," she warned.

He bounced again, and then gave an ironically casually shrug as he finally came clean. His only hope was that the volume of Emily's reaction didn't draw a crowd and give the whole plan away before it got off the ground. The girl practically ruptured his ear drums with her shrieking when she found out he and Gillian were finally together. To find out he was just a few hours from a proposal? Her response to that news might actually shatter glass.

He took one last look over Emily's shoulder to be sure that the door was still closed, and then gave her a smile that literally lit him up from the inside out. "That was your grandmum's ring," he said. "And a few hours from now, when I ask Gillian to marry me, I'll be thinking of what you told me last night. That she would be proud to see what I've accomplished, and that she'd be happy to see Gillian beside me. For better or worse, Em. Just like you said."

"I will be honored to take this step with Gillian… to let her know that forever is all I've ever wanted, too. And that sometimes, even _that_ doesn't seem long enough."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Thank you all for the fantastic comments you've been leaving... it means so much to me! And I promise, the main event WILL happen in the next chapter. This one stretched longer than I expected. Thanks for reading!**_


	42. Chapter 42

_**A/N: Thanks so much to all of you for your wonderful comments. I do my best to respond to every review, and because I obviously can't do that with the guest reviews, I just wanted to be sure you know how much they are appreciated. Many, many thanks guys. You're awesome!**_

_**A side note: Part of this chapter is very similar to an earlier one; that was intentional. Enjoy!**_

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><p>Gillian had always been attracted to Cal; <em>always<em>. He was confident and charismatic and downright sexy in this understated, yet oh-so-seductive way that sent Gillian's heart fluttering and her adrenaline pumping every time she saw him. _Every single time_. She loved the way his body moved with a surprising combination of understated strength and absolute precision; how he managed to be both kindhearted and gentle in one breath, and fiercely brave in the next. Always loyal… always protective.

And now that she had the benefit of hindsight in her back pocket, she wondered how she'd ever managed to resist him for so long. How it was possible that she spent years being flooded by fear and denial, even when the rest of her body practically craved him.

That's what had drawn her there, to the darkened spot outside his office door hours after everyone else had already gone home. _The craving_. It had only gotten stronger since the night they'd first…

"Much as I enjoy having your eyes on me, love, I'd rather feel your hands instead."

Cal's voice echoed through the otherwise silent room and it caught her by surprise. She'd been standing there for several moments now, just watching him. Admiring the strength of his features and the kindness in his eyes, and how each complimented the other in such an absolute perfect way. It was one of her favorite developments of the past several months; the fact that she didn't need to hide her attraction anymore. That she could stare openly, if she wanted to; because she loved him, and because she was _in love_ with him, and because she needed him to know the depth of her feelings.

He swiveled abruptly and faced her before she had the chance to think of a reply. He looked thoroughly amused; smug and satisfied, as if he'd known she was there all along and had just been indulging her. Humoring her.

And she was struck with a sense of déjà-vu when he quirked his brows in a knowing smirk and nodded at her. "You're staring," he whispered thickly.

The timber of his voice was what finally set her in motion. He was toying with her… making his accent excessively thick just because he could; just because he _knew_ what it did to her. In response, Gillian tossed him a knowing smile and strode slowly through his doorway with deliberate patience. She was pacing herself; controlling every single movement, just because _she_ could. Just because she knew what _that_ did to _him_.

"You're worth it," she said simply. She stood inches from his chair, looking down into his face as she spoke and watching the reaction to her words play out across his features. And instead of making a flirtatious comment, or reaching up to pull her into his lap, as she expected, Cal simply stood. The look he gave her was half seductive confidence, and half something else… something that she could only describe as anticipation. Like he had a secret and he was just waiting for her to put the pieces together.

And it took only a split second before the unspoken question passed across her face; she'd seen his nervousness – seen that he was hiding something – but before she could voice it, he took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. "So are you," he answered, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles.

It was only _then_ that she noticed what he was wearing. Gone were the jeans and black shirt that he always favored, and in their place came a sleek suit that made him look absolutely…_delicious_.

That's all she had; just one word. _Delicious_.

Her eyes swept over him – from head to toe and back again, and she took a half step backwards in surprise because Cal Lightman did _not_ wear suits. Save for the occasional business meeting or lecture or something of that nature. But on a normal work day, when there were no active cases and no clients to impress? When all they had planned was a quiet evening at home together? Not a chance.

This was… _different_. It was… _unexpected_. And it was sexy as hell. The man was just standing there, grinning smugly and waiting for her to make the next move, and he looked positively edible.

Gillian made an involuntary noise that was part groan and part sigh, but all coherent thought died in her head as soon as he smiled at her. It was full of seductive power and magnetic charm, and the heat behind it quite literally left her knees weak.

As soon as Cal read her reaction, the anticipation she'd seen on him earlier rose up again. It flashed across his face unbidden, but was gone an instant later when he leaned forward to speak in her ear. "That," he said, pausing to drop a soft kiss near her jaw, "Was quite possibly the best compliment of my life, love. Glad to see I can still surprise you after all these years."

As he pressed a second kiss along her jaw line, Gillian giggled. It sounded breathier than she would've liked, but between Cal's proximity, his voice, and the heady scent of his cologne that was just now starting to waft its way into her senses, she felt positively tingly. As if every nerve ending in her body was on high alert and ready to react to the slightest sensation… the slightest touch… the slightest _anything_, really, so long as came from him.

Finally finding her voice, Gillian cleared her throat and focused her attention on the look in his eyes. It was pure adrenaline, mixed with something decidedly _Cal_. Passion, and love, and yet again that flash of anticipation she'd seen earlier. _Interesting_...

"Aren't you a bit overdressed for a casual evening at home?" she asked. She did her best to sound relaxed, but in reality she was prompting him. Hoping he'd tell her what was _really_ going on. Because _this_? The suit, and the smile, and the look on his face? It was definitely _not_ casual. Not by a long shot.

Without giving him the chance to answer, Gillian ran her hands up his arms and then rested her fingertips on his chest. Beneath her palm, his pulse was steady and strong; and as she drew herself even further into his embrace, she felt it surge.

"Change of plans, love," he offered. That was all; just four short words that gave away nothing, yet told her everything all in the same breath.

It took only the slightest touch at the nape of his neck before she saw it – the slight shiver that meant his resolve was close to cracking and he was trying like hell to hold everything together, just for her. Because of something he'd _done_ for her. And so it was with every ounce of willpower in her body that she stood there – _simply stood there_ – and said, "You, Doctor Lightman, are the master of surprises. And I have no doubt that whatever you have up your well-fitted sleeve will knock my socks off."

She hadn't expected Cal to smile. She hadn't expected him to laugh. And she definitely, _definitely_, hadn't expected him to look at her like _that_ - like he had won – because clearly, she didn't even know the rules to his game. But then he pulled her even closer…even tighter… until the length of his entire body was aligned with hers, and he dipped his head toward her ear.

_The master of surprises in deed. _

"Two small points love?" he offered. He dropped a handful of gentle kisses up the side of her neck as he spoke, pausing every few seconds to stroke his hands across her shoulders, leaving gooseflesh in his wake as he went. "_One_: you aren't wearing socks. And even if you were, I can assure you that those would definitely _not_ be my primary target."

When he pulled back to study her face – and to waggle his eyebrows up and down for emphasis – Gillian giggled. He was so damned cute. "That's a very fair point," she conceded. "And the second…?"

Cal instantly switched his attention to the other side of her neck and began dropping kisses there as well. "Well, it's more of a question, really," he said. "And the question is: what makes you so sure I have anything up my sleeve? Can't a guy just decide to wear a simple suit and tie for his girlfriend without having her go all suspicious on him?"

On the last word, Cal's lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot near her pulse point and she gasped. As soon as she did it, he took a half-step backwards; close enough so that she was still well within his embrace, but just far enough away that he could easily read her expression. And as he settled, that the same look of anticipation she'd seen on him earlier returned in full force; unmasked and prominent and just begging for her to mention that she'd seen it at all.

But she didn't. She decided to play with him instead.

_Her_ lips found _his_ neck a moment later, and without ever answering his question, she plowed ahead. "Two small points, Cal?" she said, fully enjoying the light tremble that ran through his body with every kiss she placed. "One: that is most certainly _not_ just a simple suit and tie. It's sexy as hell. _You_ look sexy as hell in it, and you know it."

The longer she spoke, the shallower Cal's breathing became. And finally, just as she was ready to make her second point, he threaded his hands into her hair and crashed his mouth to hers in a desperate frenzy. It was all heat and passion and immeasurable desire, and the longer it went, the more she could feel herself falling headlong into the moment and completely forgetting that they'd been in the middle of something else. Something conversational. Something that _didn't_ involve his sexy-as-hell suit in a crumpled pile on the office floor.

But Cal had clearly not forgotten. And all too soon, he pulled away and left her breathless – gaping after him and willing her heart rate to slow down, lest she collapse on the floor from sheer sexual frustration. Death by prolonged foreplay; at least she'd go out with a smile.

While Gillian felt desperate and disheveled, Cal looked entirely pleased with himself. Smug and confident, and in complete control of everything that was unfolding between them. He shifted forward on the balls of his feet and ran one hand through her hair, and just as soon as she began to lean into his touch, he pulled away again.

"And two?" he suddenly prompted. Then he shifted forward on the balls of his feet and ran one hand through her hair; distracting her even further… making her breath grow shallow and rapid.

_He was good. Very, very good_.

"I'm still waiting for your second point, love," he gently prompted again. "Seems the only one you've made so far is that I'm… how did you phrase it? Sexy as hell?"

He added a playful little growl to the end of his comment and she sighed; he was impossible. Sexually charged and seductive one minute, then feisty and playful the next. Some days she struggled to keep up with him, and other days she happily hung on for the ride.

"You just want me to say it again, don't you?" she quipped.

He grinned. "'Course."

And with that, Gillian stepped back into his space – close enough to feel the heat from his body transfer on to hers. The anticipation was back now – it was written all over his face. "To hell with my second point," she said, raking her fingers over his chest as she spoke. "The only thing on my mind right now is how amazingly sexy you look, and how amazingly lucky I feel when I'm with you."

She felt his pulse flare a bit further with each word, and before it had a chance to settle - before he had any idea what was coming next – she grabbed one fistful of his silky tie and pulled, sending his lips crashed against hers again. Only this time, instead of being frantic and frenzied, their kiss was slow and tender. _She_ was the one controlling the pace; slowing it. And when she pulled away, his eyes were wide.

For a moment, she thought he was just a bit dazed. That he'd gotten distracted by their kiss and that in just a matter of seconds, he'd be right back to his playful, sexually-charged self.

But she was wrong.

As she looked on in silence, Cal's wide eyed gaze softened into the most serene smile she'd ever seen. He looked positively peaceful. Handsome and strong, and so completely in love with her that it literally made her breath catch in her throat. She felt weak again, but for an entirely different reason.

Cal took a deep, shuddering breath and brought his hands up to frame her face. His touch was so very gentle. "Do you trust me, Gillian?" he asked.

And the question caught her by surprise, because _of course_ she trusted him. With her life, with her heart… with everything. But instead of dismissing him – waving his words away with a giggle or a kiss or a hundred other gestures that all would've served the same purpose – she looked him straight in the eye and placed her hand over his heart. "I trust you," she answered. "Always."

Gillian felt his reaction to that word before she saw it. As soon as she said "_always_," Cal's pulse began to race and his fingers began to tremble, and then finally – just when she _was_ ready to lean forward and kiss him again – he flashed that same look of anticipation that she'd seen earlier. Only this time, instead of being laced with nerves, the anticipation she saw was laced with delight. Utter and complete delight, as if he was fighting with his own body in an effort to contain it all.

He took a final shuddering breath and then turned to lead her from the room. "Walk with me love," he said. "There's something I want to give you."

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><p><em><strong>AN: I originally planned to write this part of the story as one chapter, not two. But when I hit over 5,000 words while writing it and STILL wasn't finished, I decided it was best if I split it into two parts. The good news is that part 2 is nearly finished and should be up in 2 days, max. Hopefully sooner. Thanks for reading! :)**_


	43. Chapter 43

_**A/N: As promised, this is part two. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it... this one is dear to my heart.** _

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><p><em>Gillian felt his reaction to that word before she saw it. As soon as she said the word "always," Cal's pulse began to race and his fingers began to tremble, and then finally – just when she was ready to lean forward and kiss him again – he flashed that same look of anticipation that she'd seen earlier. Only this time, instead of being laced with nerves, the anticipation she saw was laced with delight. Utter and complete delight, as if he was fighting with his own body in an effort to contain it all.<em>

_He took a final shuddering breath and then turned to lead her from the room. "Walk with me love," he said. "There's something I want to give you."_

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><p>Gillian did not think to ask questions. She didn't think to ask where they were going, or why… because she trusted him implicitly. Cal's excitement level was palpable, and it was obvious that whatever was coming next –whatever this <em>'change of plans'<em> was really all about – was serious.

By the time they turned the corner and headed for the doorway that would lead them up the back staircase and onto the roof, Cal was starting to tremble. He was a mix of excitement, nerves, and barely contained energy that was itching to come out one way or another. She felt it in his fingertips as they held tightly to hers… saw the look in his eyes as he turned toward her and dropped his hand to the small of her back to guide her up the first several steps.

But still, she did not question him.

As soon as they reached the top landing and stepped out into the crisp evening air, Cal took a deep breath and tucked his hands in his pockets. He was fidgety again; nervous. Part of her thought it was charming and sweet, and a thousand other things that she could not name; and another part of her was still trying to figure out what on earth he could've possibly planned that would take place on the rooftop of their building. She'd long ago learned to expect the unexpected from Cal, but this? This took _'unexpected'_ to a whole new level.

She could think of only a few possibilities that made sense – that fit with his suit, and his excitement, and his nerves. And as she stood there ticking them off one by one in her mind, Gillian's heart started to pound. And as much as she didn't want to question him, she couldn't help herself. So she closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself, and said, "What in the world are you…"

That was as far as she got, because by the time she opened her eyes he was standing several paces away – next to the railing, and in the exact spot where they'd both stood together so many times before. And there, placed indiscreetly next to him, she finally saw it; the reason for all of his excitement.

There was a small, simple table adorned with a handful of items that were obviously meant for her. A single package, wrapped in a delicate blue ribbon that matched the shade of Cal's tie… a small box of chocolates (_Godiva, she mused_)… and there, in the back, stood a vase filled with pink roses. For a moment, she was so caught up in wondering when he'd had the time to bring everything up there, and how he'd managed to sneak a table through the office without _someone_ commenting on it, that she didn't pay much attention to what he'd actually done. _For her_.

But once it hit her – once it _finally_ hit her, Gillian's jaw dropped open in complete surprise. Fighting back the few tears that she just _knew_ were bound to fall sooner or later, she took a deep breath and tried to speak again. "What are you…"

That was as far as she got before Cal simply smiled, then gave a shrug that was obviously meant to downplay the importance of whatever he was about to say. "Change of plans love, just like I said."

In that moment, Gillian couldn't have spoken again if her life depended on it. She was completely mesmerized by everything she saw; the beautiful DC skyline – with its thousands of lights and thousands of memories – spread out as a backdrop to the scene before her. Which was Cal Lightman, the man she'd loved for so many years, looking breathtakingly handsome and waiting just for her.

_Just for her._

"I wanted this to be special," he started, punctuating the end of his statement with another casual shrug. As if he did this sort of thing for her every day and it really wasn't a big deal at all. And it struck her then that she should probably move… that she should probably try to say _something_, just to let him know that she was there with him, in the moment. And that she loved him.

But when she finally _did_ open her mouth to speak, only one word came out. It was weak and strained, and much quieter than she would've liked. "Special?" she repeated. Partly because she needed clarification as to what _'this'_ was supposed to be, and partly because it hadn't hit her yet as to what it might _actually_ be.

'Might' being the key word; the last thing she wanted to do was jump to the wrong conclusion, and the box that had been placed next to Cal was much too big to hold… _dare she even say it_… a ring. Surely she was getting ahead of herself.

Cal interrupted her musing with a gentle sigh. "It'll be easier to do this if you'll actually stand next to me, love," he said. "I mean, I've been told I _do_ look rather sexy in this suit, and I'd hate to think I went to all this effort for nothing. All these weeks of sneaking and planning and wearing this bloody constricting tie, just to have the most beautiful woman in the entire world stand on the other side of the building as I give her something that is rather... heartfelt."

At the sound of those words, Gillian's pulse took off at a gallop. Her nerves were in full force now, to the point that her fingertips were trembling and her throat had gone dry and in the back of her mind, a tiny little voice started to point out that Cal looked as calm as could possibly be. Funny how they'd switched places… funny how all of his anxiety had shifted over to her as soon as they stepped outside.

With another swallow and a tiny shake of her head, she tried to speak again. "_Heartfelt_?" she breathed. She still hadn't taken a single step.

Cal nodded. He held out one hand toward her, but aside from that he did not move. "You trust me, right?" he asked.

It was such a simple word. _Trust_. But for them? After all that they'd shared together… through all of the risks they'd taken and the battles they'd fought just to get there, in _that moment_… it felt anything but simple. It felt like coming home.

Before she answered, Gillian took one deep, shuddering breath and then finally began to move. She took slow steps toward Cal, watching the way his smile deepened as she got closer and the way that his body automatically turned to meet hers without either of them initiating the contact. And when they stood face to face – mere inches apart, and high above the city that still bustled beneath them – she took his hand. "I trust you with my life."

Cal beamed; he gave her a smile that lit up his entire face, and then he kissed the back of her hand. Just a quick touch of his lips against her skin, and then he was still again. Lost in thought. A moment later, he turned to face the railing and gestured out over the expanse of the skyline. "Do you know what I see when I look at this city?" he asked.

Somehow sensing that she'd never be able to guess his answer, she simply pulled herself closer to him and waited for him to give it.

"I see our memories, Gill," he continued. "All of them. All the things that you've taught me about how to be a better friend, and a better partner, and a better man. And I've been obsessing for months now about how to get my feelings into words. How to find a way to tell you how much I love you. How much I've always loved you. And even though I don't think anyone has invented the words to describe it properly, it occurred to me that this right here… _this_ view, in _this_ exact spot, was the closest I could probably come. Because as big as this city is? It can't compare with how much I love you. With all of my heart, and all of my soul. _You_ are the center, Gillian. _You _are the force that keeps me grounded… the strength that calms my fears… and the only person that has ever seen the truth of me."

Gillian paled; those words took her breath away. She felt the strongest, deepest pull in the center of her chest – as if she'd felt them all the way to her heart. Tears spring to her eyes instantly, but she blinked them away before they fell. "_Jesus_, Cal, I…"

He lifted one hand to her lips and interrupted the sentence before she could finish. And from that brief touch alone, she could tell he was trembling. "Pace yourself. There's more."

And there went her heart again, galloping away. "_More_?"

Cal simply nodded and reached for the package beside them. "I brought you up here because I wanted to you to know that everything in my life… everything in this entire city… all boils down to just you and me. You and me, Gillian. This where we've built our business, and where we've made our home, and where we've found our family."

She felt faint. There were a thousand things Gillian wanted to tell him in that moment, but all of them – _all of them_ – failed her as soon as she tried to speak. She looked up at Cal, with watery eyes and a beaming smile, and only managed to say a single word. "_Family_?"

He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and then leaned back on his heels, grinning. "This is as close to speechless as I've ever seen you, love," he said. "I'll take that to mean I'm doing a pretty good job so far then, yeah?"

He was still grinning a moment later, when she stretched up on her toes to brush her lips across the shell of his ear. Finally, she found her voice. "Just for the record, Cal? _'Pretty good job'_ doesn't even begin to cover it."

When she pulled back, Gillian saw a flash of nervousness cross his features. It was brief – just a few short seconds – but still, it was there. It was _real_. And so she stroked the back of her hand along his cheek and simply said, "It's just you and me, remember? I trust you and I love you – always. And there's absolutely nothing to be nervous about."

Cal shook his head – tempted to disagree with her and insist that he was not nervous, but smart enough to know that she'd already seen the truth. "I just want everything to be perfect for you," he said. "Because I've never done anything like this before, and I'm not sure how you're going to react once I give it to you. Like I said… it's heartfelt, yeah? Weeks of planning, and sneaking, and…"

"… the bloody constricting tie," she teased. "I remember."

Although she'd expected Cal to smile or to joke right along with her, he didn't. He didn't lose focus at all. And for that reason alone, Gillian began to feel all tingly again. She felt every nerve ending begin to come alive, one by one… felt the depth of his emotion as it shone from his eyes… felt her own pulse start to quicken as he slowly passed that package into her outstretched hands.

_Showtime_.

Cal took a deep breath and shoved one hand into his pocket; the other gestured absently between their bodies as he spoke. "I met with my publisher today," he offered.

And whatever Gillian had expected him to say, it was most certainly not _that_. She couldn't figure out what a meeting with his publisher had to do with anything, or why he was bringing it up now. And she felt confusion etching its way across her features as she squinted at him and quietly asked, "Your publisher?"

He nodded. "It's finished, Gill. The entire manuscript… every single thing I'd been struggling to say for so many months all finally came together and I submitted it earlier today. I met with all the suits in that building while you and Loker were up to your eyeballs in his latest research project, and I'll tell you… I never could've done it without you. The work, I mean," he suddenly clarified. "The actual writing. Not the meeting. That would've no doubt bored your pants right off."

She didn't know if it was his nerves, or the sheer relief he felt by finally being able to tell her about everything, but as she stood there and listened to him go further and further off the rails – losing his train of thought almost entirely – she couldn't help but laugh. A few minutes ago, he'd looked like he might actually cry, and now he was discussing the semantics of a business meeting that would've bored her pants off. It bore repeating: some days she struggled to keep up with him, and other days she happily hung on for the ride.

"Is that your eloquent way of telling me to open the box?" she giggled. "Because I have to tell you, Cal, between your suit, this breathtaking view, and the way you've made my heart go all fluttery, it won't take much talk about any of my clothing coming off before I'll be tempted to haul you right down on this rooftop and knock another item off those pesky little betting sheets."

That seemed to do the trick. For a moment, Cal just stared at her, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as if he couldn't believe she'd been so bold as to interrupt his speech with _anything_, let alone a very real promise about getting frisky high above the streets of DC. But then again, that was them. That was what they always did. They could go from romantic, to frisky, to neutral and back again without batting an eye. It's what made them click; what kept things interesting. Unpredictable. Fresh.

And to that end, she wasn't at all surprised when Cal reached over – with a smug little gleam in his eye – and tugged at the blue ribbon that was wrapped around the box. "Pace yourself, love. Like I told you before, _there's more_. Weeks of sneaking and planning and all that. So please," he said, his accent suddenly becoming heavy and thick. "Open it."

_There they went again… back to romantic._

At his urging, Gillian took a deep breath and then, with trembling fingers, slowly edged the lid off the box. Inside, she found a copy of his manuscript, neatly bound and freshly printed. It was just resting there indiscreetly, with its stark white pages and crisp black font, and at first she didn't understand. She didn't understand why he'd done all of _this_… the rooftop, the suit, the beautiful roses and the most beautiful words anyone had ever spoken… because of his manuscript. The puzzle pieces were all there in front of her, but they wouldn't come together. They wouldn't _click_.

Cal must've seen the confusion on her face because he leaned forward and spoke his next words directly into her ear. "The dedication, Gillian," he said. "I wrote it for you."

His voice was so gentle; so soothing. And in hindsight, she felt foolish for feeling any confusion at all. Because _of course_ he'd written a dedication. That's the only thing that made sense; that _had_ to be the reason he went to so much effort… the reason for his excitement and his nervousness. He'd written the dedication for her. _To her_.

Gillian knew Cal Lightman better than she'd ever known anyone. Ever. She knew how he struggled with words and emotions, and with walking the fine line it took to put those two things together. And yet he'd done it just for her. Short of him dropping to one knee in the spot where he now stood and asking for her hand in marriage, she couldn't think of a single thing he could do that would top it.

_It was perfect._

She brought the pages to eye level and began to speak the words aloud, so that Cal could hear the emotion in her voice as she read them. So that he would know how much his dedication meant to her… how much _he_ meant to her. And how much she loved him.

"_To Gillian… my partner, my family, my love. You have given me unwavering support, unparalleled friendship, and absolute trust. Sharing my life with you has given me more happiness than I could've ever imagined, and even though three simple words cannot fully express the depth of my feelings, please know that I love you. That I always have, and I always will."_

By the time she finished, Gillian's voice was broken and her eyes were full of unshed tears. And as she looked at Cal – still standing there in front of her, so breathtakingly handsome and patient that she could hardly believe he was real – she could think of only one thing to say. It was part of what he'd told her on their first night together, and she knew he would recognize the meaning. "All of you, with all of me," she breathed.

And she wanted to kiss him – _oh_, _how she wanted to kiss him_ – but her eyes were automatically drawn back to the words he'd written. She ran her hand over the pages, almost as if she were trying to absorb them into her skin; and she was so intently focused that she did not hear the rustle of fabric as Cal moved beside her. She did not see him reach one hand into his pocket and pull out the small black pouch that she'd last seen so many months ago. But when she finally lowered the manuscript and placed it on the table, there he stood: still silent… still waiting patiently… with that beautiful ring in the palm of his hand.

In that instant, everything in Gillian's world went still. Gone was the bustling city beneath them… the sounds, the lights, the people… all of it fell away and the only thing she saw was Cal. Nothing else mattered. And for a very brief moment, she thought she might actually faint. Not from nerves, of course; those were nowhere in sight. But from the sheer and utter surprise at what he had done – what he was obviously _about_ to do. With that beautiful, _beautiful_ ring she'd worn all too briefly. _His mother's ring._

Gillian knew that ring had more sentimental value than anything else Cal owned. It was a piece of his past; a part of his life he rarely shared with anyone. And the fact that he was not only sharing it with her, but was making it such a significant part of their future spoke volumes. It was breathtaking.

To his credit, Cal didn't look nervous at all. _Not at all_. He was confident, and calm, and so utterly _peaceful_ that Gillian's first instinct was to reach out and touch him; so she laced her right hand with his left and lightly stroked her thumb across his knuckles, just trying to ground herself. But in the next breath, before she even realized it was happening at all, he was moving. He tightened his grip on her fingers, shifted his body weight to one foot… and then finally – _finally_ – knelt in front of her, offering her everything she'd ever wanted.

_Forever_.

He looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes and the softest expression she'd ever seen and it was only _then_ that she realized she'd begun to cry. She felt no fear, no doubt, and no hesitation. Only joy.

"I'd give you the moon and the stars if I could, darling," he began. "But all I have is my word. My promise that I will spend the rest of our days together doing everything in my power to make you as happy as you've already made me. And I love you, Gillian. So very, very much. All of you, with all of me. Always. Will you marry me?"

It felt as though time stood still – as though everything in the entire world stopped right in that moment, because nothing… _nothing_… could've been more important that the answer Gillian was about to give. It was one simple word that would change both of their lives, and it was all she could do to keep her body in one place long enough to speak it. She wanted to drop to her knees alongside him; take him in her arms and tell him that she didn't need the moon and the stars. That he was enough; that he would always be enough.

But when she opened her mouth to say all of those things – how much she loved him and how grateful she was to have him in her life – the only thing that came out was a soft "_yes_."

She said yes.

_Then_ she could breathe. And suddenly everything began to move again, and the scenery around them came alive with vibrant, radiant colors – all because she said 'yes.'

_Yes_.

It was such a simple word. But for them? After everything they'd been through and every battle they'd fought just to get there, in that moment? It was anything but simple. It felt like… _home_.

Cal slipped the ring over her finger and then stood beside her, grinning and laughing and just feeling the emotion of the moment wash over him. Relief, joy, and complete elation each spread across his body in turn, until he was so wound up from trying to keep it all contained that he just couldn't stop himself. He looped his arms around Gillian's waist and spun – lifting her off the ground and into his arms for a whirlwind hug. And the instant her feet touched the ground again, she flew into motion. She fisted her hands in his lapels, looked deeply into his eyes, and pulled him as close as he could possibly get. Until there wasn't a sliver of space between them, and it was all but impossible to tell where she ended and he began.

Time slowed again as they stood there, lost in the moment and in each other, until Gillian cupped Cal's face in her hands – simultaneously captivated by the sparkle of moonlight from her ring, and the lone tear that trailed down his cheek – then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was slow… gentle. Unhurried and unassuming. Taking nothing and giving everything; full of promise… full of hope. And moments later, when they finally parted, Gillian spoke the words that were in her heart.

"Take me home, Cal," she whispered.

They'd finally reached the moment when that meant only one thing: their home. Together.

_Always_.


	44. Chapter 44

_**A/N: Hello again! I know it's been forever since I updated, and in all honesty, I wasn't sure I could do another chapter. I tried for weeks, and just about drove myself nuts in the process, but nothing would come out right. And then everything went into a tailspin with my freetime (sick kid, loss of a pet, out of town trip, crazy work hours...) and I was almost ready to click the "complete" button and leave Cal & Gill happily engaged. But then out of the blue, little bits of dialogue started floating around my head. **_

_**I was going to use those little bits in a quick epilogue. But once I finally sat down to type it, a few hundred words grew into a few (well, five) thousand words, and at that point it really didn't count as an epilogue anymore. So here we go again... there should be a few more chapters after this one, and then I promise I'll wrap it up for good. ;)**_

_**Lastly, I want to give a massive thank you to all the wonderful people who have kept on clicking the alert button, even though my muse dried up for a bit. That's the main reason I kept trying to come up with something else... as a big thanks to everyone who has been so supportive and sweet, and because I really wanted to give you more. Hope you like it!**_  
><em><strong>~Jennifer<strong>_

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><p>Simply put, Gillian Lightman was shocked. She'd spent the last few days preparing herself for any number of outcomes – good, bad, and everything in between – but nothing, <em>absolutely nothing<em>, she'd imagined amounted to anything even close to the words she'd just heard. It couldn't be real. _Could it?_

No, probably not. She was probably imagining things. Hearing what she wanted to hear, rather than what she'd actually been told. Because, really… this wasn't even possible.

_Was it?_

She was vaguely aware that her jaw had dropped open. And she was even more vaguely aware that Cal was still sitting beside her – leaning forward in his chair so that his elbows rested on his knees. He was practically bent in half, and making the strangest combination of sounds she'd ever heard from him; a handful of broken syllables and British idioms that she probably would've understood if she'd been thinking clearly. Or if she'd been thinking at all. But her hearing had gone fuzzy as soon as she heard the doctor speak that word, and given the circumstances, she wasn't sure she could trust her own ears.

"Mrs. Lightman? Are you alright?"

The voice sounded far away – much too far away to have come from the woman who sat across from them _(calmly, at that; as if the entire scene was completely normal)_, and even though Gillian knew she should respond, she couldn't. _Not yet._

She could feel Cal's eyes on her; studying… prompting. Willing her to say that _yes_, she was alright. Or that she _would be_ alright, once everything finally sunk in. But even being caught in the crosshairs of his intense gaze didn't trigger a response. She just couldn't find the words.

Her gaze dropped to her lap, and then in turn to her hands which were twisting themselves into a knot at the edge of her skirt. They were fidgeting and fretting, having found a measure of comfort in spinning the wedding band around her finger. To her credit, she made a conscious effort to stop. To focus. To react in some way – _any way_ – that did not involve shocked silence. Because in the coming weeks, when she looked back on this moment (_and she knew that she would relive it again and again… savoring even the smallest_ detail) she didn't want to remember it like _this_.

So she took a deep breath to calm herself, managed to disentangle her fingertips, and looked to Cal for strength. He didn't need her words, after all. He'd never needed them. She trusted him to take one good look at her face and understand every single emotion she was feeling, but that she simply could not convey. And she trusted him to put it into words… to give her a voice when her own was too weak to be found.

The very second her eyes met his, Cal was on his feet. He shuffled out of his chair and quickly fell into an awkward half-squat by her side. One of his hands landed on her knee and the other gripped the back of her chair for support, lest he topple right to the floor.

"Gillian, love… did you hear what she said?"

Of course she'd heard it. Every single syllable. Hearing it hadn't been the problem. Trusting herself not to get too attached too quickly? Now _that_ was the problem. And it was a big one.

But because she knew she needed to acknowledge someone, she nodded mutely. The words still wouldn't come.

Cal let out a shaky breath; it was the only sound in the room, save for Gillian's heartbeat pounding in her ears. "And you're… happy, right?" he tried again. "Please tell me you're happy."

Was she happy? Jesus, that was a stupid question. Because _'happy'_ was a word she associated with something small… something insignificant. Like being _'happy'_ with the weather, or with her favorite meal, or with a decadent piece of chocolate. Something inconsequential… easily forgotten. But _this_? This was life changing.

_'Happy'_ didn't do it justice at all.

The root of Gillian's problem was that none of it seemed real yet. Not yet. They hadn't even been trying, after all. No medication, no testing, no planning or intervention of any kind – just good, old fashioned newlywed fun – and boom! Pregnant. What were the odds? She was almost forty now (_when had that happened, anyway_?) and Cal was nearing fifty, and _holy hell_… the very last thing she expected when she'd gone in for a routine physical was this.

Truth be told, when Doctor Stewart called with the results of her blood work, Gillian had been expecting bad news. Because she'd heard an undeniable '_hiccup'_ in the younger woman's voice. A catch. A proverbial _'other shoe' _that was poised above their heads, just waiting to drop. And that was why she'd brought Cal with her to the consultation… to be her shoulder to cry on when the good doctor finally spilled the truth.

Never in a million years had she expected a baby. _A baby_. With Cal.

_Cal's baby_.

The words sounded foreign even in her own head... so foreign, in fact, that she actually began to giggle.

And as if that had been the icebreaker he'd been waiting for, Cal – who was still squatting next to her chair – began to clumsily duck-walk a few inches closer, until he was looking up into her eyes as she giggled and stuttered above him. One hand still held her knee in a death grip, and the other flittered in the air between them, making abstract gestures around her face before finally resting on the edge of the doctor's desk. It was as if all of his nervous tension had been released in one giant _'woosh'_ and it left him with way too much kinetic energy. He wasn't exactly hyper, but he wasn't calm either. He was… _bouncy_. Concerned and attentive, and so damned happy that it was all he could do to contain it.

"'S'okay to be scared, love," he whispered, grinning dopily up at her. "Because believe me, there's a big part of me that's scared shitless I'm going to wake up tomorrow and find this to have been a dream. But s'okay to be happy, too. Ecstatic, even. So deliriously happy that your mind can't tell which is up and which is down, and all you want to do is shout at the top of your lungs how bloody _wonderful_ everything feels, because I swear to you Gill… _I swear to you_… this is real. It's finally, honestly real. A baby. _Our_ baby. And there's nothing in this entire world that'll take it away from you this time."

And just like that, she knew he understood.

When he was finally finished, Cal gave a shuddering sigh and rocked back on his heels, still gripping her knee in his hand. He was concerned as ever, and unyieldingly hopeful. And the longer she studied his face, the more confident she felt, until she finally managed to _breathe_ again. She felt her blood begin to circulate, and her limbs return to normal… she saw everything snap into focus around her, and it took only a microsecond for her face to match the goofy grin that stretched across his.

The noise that came out of Gillian's mouth in that moment could only be described as joy. Complete and overwhelming joy. Like a pressure valve had been released inside her and she could no longer contain any of her emotions; good, bad, and in between, they were hell bent on pouring out whether she wanted to spill them or not. Whereas a few moments earlier, she couldn't move or speak at all, _now_ she couldn't hold still. She was animated and giggly – positively vibrating with energy in the chair where she still sat. And then it dawned on her, as if in slow-motion, that the very least she could do in a moment like this was kiss the man who had finally – _finally_ – made all of her dreams come true. And without even trying, it seemed. He was just that good. _They_ were just that good.

They were just that good _together_.

And so without even a split second of further hesitation – and with no thought at all to the fact that there was still another person in the room with them – Gillian reached for Cal with outstretched hands and a gleam in her eye, pulling him tightly against her chest and folding her arms around his neck in a crushing hug. A beat later, she pulled back slightly and framed his face in her fingertips… fully intending to show him right then and there how utterly fantastic she felt. And it wasn't until a few seconds after her lips brushed his – just as she began to really sink into the kiss with gusto – that she heard a few obvious coughing sounds coming from the other side of the room.

_Busted_.

Gillian pulled back and immediately covered her mouth with both hands, trying to hide her embarrassment. Cal, on the other hand, puffed out his chest like a proud peacock and slowly stood beside her – stretching out his cramped legs as he went. The difference between them was striking; _he_ looked smug and satisfied, while _she_ looked like a little girl who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or rather, like a newly pregnant woman who'd been seconds away from ripping her husband's clothes off right in the middle of the room. Because she would have. She _definitely_ would have. And Cal – bless his horny little heart – probably wouldn't have stopped her at all.

"To be continued then, yeah?" he quipped, flashing Gillian a shit-eating grin as he flopped into the seat beside her.

To her credit, Gillian had the common sense to turn her attention across the room and offer a stumbling apology to the woman who was seated behind the desk, studying them. She got as far as, "Guess I got a little carried away there, didn't I?" before Doctor Stewart waved her off with a wink and turned her attention back to Cal.

The younger woman sat forward in her chair and leaned her elbows on the edge of the desk as she studied him – no doubt just as fascinated by his reaction as she was by Gillian's. She didn't speak for several moments, but when she finally did, she couldn't hide the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth or the arched eyebrow that was quite obviously directed at Cal, rather than Gillian. Not mocking, exactly, but… definitely amused. She was obviously intrigued to see how the dynamic between them would play out over the course of the next several months.

"Scared shitless, huh?" she quipped, quoting Cal's earlier speech. And with those three words, the bravado he'd temporarily worn fell away. He blushed and shifted in his seat, trying to hide his sudden nervousness behind an awkward grin.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he answered. "Scared shitless, but bloody thrilled all at the same time. It's rather confusing, actually. Might take a bit of time all of this to sink in, you know?"

Doctor Stewart simply nodded, and then gave Gillian's file a quick once-over. When she found what she was looking for, she tapped her pen against the page and gave him a playful smile. "Better get used to it, then, _dad_," she said good-naturedly. "Because by my count, we have at least thirty more weeks to go."

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><p><strong>TBC... )<strong>


	45. Chapter 45

_**Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter, guys... it's always very much appreciated. Enjoy!**_

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><p>"<em>High risk<em>" was not a label that either of them wanted to hear. Simply put, those two short words managed to take the sum total of their fears and repackage them in a neat little box on a handful of neat little medical forms. They made everything sound like a category, rather than a condition. A classification, rather than reality. Loosely translated it meant, "_Don't get your hopes up, guys. And don't do anything stupid. You probably won't get a second chance_."

As if either of them needed the reminder.

Cal couldn't even begin to imagine how Gillian was feeling. Because if he was hovering around level seven on the scale of '_I'm-So-Damned-Happy-I-Could-Actually-Burst, But-The-Obstetrician-Scared-The-Living-Shit-Out-Of-Me,_" then Gillian had to be at least a ten. Fifteen, probably. And he had no idea how she was managing to simply _sit_ there with him. They were holed up at their kitchen table, surrounded by raw reality and countless piles of medical forms, and he was bloody amazed that she wasn't overwhelmed to the point of running around the room like a headless chicken, all aimless and flapping. But one good look at her face told him that she wasn't overwhelmed at all.

Instead, she looked… _annoyed_.

Which was odd, really, because 'annoyance' didn't seem to fit the situation. Shock, joy, fear, panic… all of those fit. But annoyed? That was the last thing he would've expected.

Gillian snickered under her breath, shaking her head a bit as she fumbled with something on the table. And it was only _then_ that his eyes tracked her movements downward and he noticed her examining a handful of large pills. _Large_ being an understatement, given that they were bloody well the size of horse tranquilizers.

"What the hell are these things, anyway?" she mused. "I'm a pregnant woman, not a horse. How the hell am I supposed to swallow them?"

Gillian almost never swore. Sometimes a few words slipped out during sex, or when she was really steaming angry (_usually at him_), but to hear her use even a minor swear like 'hell' twice in a few seconds? That was new. It almost made him smile.

_Almost_.

"The pharmacist must be a bloody sadist," he agreed, stubbornly nodding along and _not_ smiling at her. He wasn't angry or upset, of course. Just distracted. Tense, to the point that it was bordering on full-blown panic. _Stupid, stupid medical forms. Stupid, stupid 'high risk' label. _

Everything had seemed so much… easier a few hours ago. Back before they knew all the risks and possible complications. Back when he was still blissfully ignorant about everything except that fact that his beautiful wife was pregnant. He wanted to rewind the clock.

Gillian drummed her fingers against the table for a few seconds, and the noise jarred him out of his self-imposed pity party. By the time he turned to face her, she had a suspicious looking gleam in her eye. Which was also new – or at least, it was new to see _that_ particular gleam in her eye when they were both fully clothed and planning to stay upright for the next several hours.

Her expression pulled his smile closer to the surface, but it was still mostly hidden. It was as stubborn as he was.

"Wonder if I can crush these up and mix them in something?" she said, grinning at him as she dropped the pills back into the vial and recapped it. Then she waggled her eyebrows, just for emphasis.

Stubbornness be damned, _that one_ finally got him. She looked bloody well adorable, and well… trust Gillian to turn medication into dessert.

"Something like what, love?" he asked with a small smile. "Cake and ice cream?"

She blushed straight away, which told him that he hadn't quite hit the nail on the head, but he'd come pretty close. "Pudding?" she said meekly. "Because this wouldn't mix well with ice cream, and putting vitamins into cake is just _gross_."

_Of course it was_. Cal looked at her as if she'd just sprouted a third eye, but managed to cover it quickly with another smile. What could he say to _that_ logic, anyway?

Without another word, Gillian went straight to the refrigerator. She returned seconds later with two spoons in hand, and placed a single cup of the cold, chocolate treat between them. As she peeled back the lid, she nudged his arm with her elbow, gave a quick wink, and quipped, "Pudding mixes well with _everything_."

_God_, he envied that. Her ability to just… _be_. To switch gears and plow ahead, fully focused and ready for anything. Calm and centered, and totally together. But then again, that was her nature. She was the "_planner_" among them; the organizer. Shock and surprise were well within his wheelhouse, but once that passed – once it was time to line up all of the ducks and break everything into more manageable pieces, it was all Gillian's department.

Cal Lightman knew '_Fight or Flight_,' and he knew it well. He was _not_ as familiar with the whole '_Calm the Hell Down, Eat Pudding, and Take Everything One Step At a Time_,' approach that Gillian seemed to favor.

_Yes_, he'd get there eventually. But for now, everything seemed completely overwhelming. They had a thousand and one things to remember… a thousand and one pamphlets to read… a thousand and one items on their to-do lists. Which, of course, translated into a thousand and one things for him to worry about. And at this rate, he was on pace to give himself an ulcer before she reached the second trimester.

As if she'd heard his very thoughts, Gillian gave a dramatic sigh. She swirled her spoon through the pudding cup, rolled her eyes at him, and said – in a tone that was probably more light-hearted than he deserved – "You _think_ really loudly, Cal. Keep it up and Emily will be able to hear you all the way from California."

Translation?

'_Stop over-obsessing, you stupid plonker. You're making me a nervous wreck.'_

Alright, fine. He paraphrased the 'ploker' part. But it seemed fitting, since they weren't even a full day into pregnancy mode and he was already getting on her nerves. His ultra-serious, deer-in-the-headlights attitude was clearly not helpful at all. And if they were going to make it through the next thirty weeks with their sanity intact, he knew he needed to calm down.

And stop being a plonker.

_And_… stock up on pudding.

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><p>Because it was common knowledge that Gillian Lightman would <em>not<em> be having a textbook pregnancy, Dr. Stewart decided on a good, old-fashioned, honest approach to their case. In her opinion, glossing over the ugly bits and handing them nothing but sunshine and roses just seemed like a waste of everyone's time. So she'd been almost _too_ honest with them instead.

Hence, all the bloody paperwork that was still spread all over their kitchen table.

Dr. Stewart had given them pamphlets about what Gillian should eat… what Gillian should _not_ eat… how often she would be examined… all of the different screenings that would be done… and there was even a week by week chart that illustrated the baby's growth. _That one_ he liked. And all things considered, Cal thought he'd been doing pretty well. There had been no more 'loud thinking' and no more ulcer-inducing panic. He'd simply allowed himself to follow Gillian's lead and take it all step by step.

So they'd spent a few hours talking, and laughing, and eating far more chocolate pudding than he'd ever imagined anyone's stomach could hold. And by late afternoon, he was feeling almost back to normal.

_Almost_.

Little did he know that Gillian had saved the worst bit for last.

The red font caught his attention right away. It was bold, and easily twice the size of every other printed word on the page. There were giant, bullet-pointed words that fell under the heading of "When To Seek Medical Attention," and the mere sight of them made him want to retch. Violently.

The look on his face made Gillian wince, and she did her best to reassure him. "These are just possibilities, Cal. They aren't written in stone. And we have no reason to think that anything on this list will ever happen to us. We just… we need to be prepared, just in case. That's all."

He felt himself nodding along with her – trying to show her that he was listening, and that he understood, but a verbal reply escaped him. His throat had gone dry, and his eyes had gone wide, and everything in his body was practically screaming at him to jump out of that chair and move. And the longer he sat there, squinting at those bloody awful words and nodding along as Gillian tried to placate him – the more jittery he became, until he finally got a very clear mental image of the "_scared shitless_" version of himself. The one who sat in Dr. Stewart's office and admitted that he was terrified to wake up and find out that everything had been a dream.

_That_ Cal – _Captain Shitless_ – currently had the _other_ Cal (the bouncy, over-caffeinated, _happy bastard_) in a headlock and was wrestling him to the ground, leaving nothing but a jumble of nerves and good intentions as the victor.

_Captain Shitless played dirty_.

Finally, when he could not take the stillness any longer, he began to drum his foot against the table leg. Slowly at first… random beats to a random pattern that Gillian seemed not to notice. But then his other foot joined in – bouncing up and down until his knee bobbed beneath the surface of the table and collided with the wood on every third upstroke.

_Tap, tap, tap. Knock, knock, knock._ They were rapid-fire movements to match his rapid-fire thoughts. And at that point, he knew that Gillian was merely _pretending_ not to notice.

In a strange way, part of him felt grateful for Dr. Stewart's direct approach – because he knew that being overly informed was definitely better than being under informed. But the other part of him – the part that currently wanted to reach for the nearest bucket – wanted to convince Gillian to brush up on her karate skills, just in case she felt the need to use them the next time the doctor's hands were too cold. Or her bedside manner wasn't in top form. Or… _anything_, really, so long as it involved payback.

In the chair next to his, Gillian sighed. It was the only sound in the room, save for the noise in his head and the banging of his knees against the wood. "It's not her fault, you know," she offered.

Cal closed his eyes and sighed in return, because really – what else could he do? Apparently pregnancy had given Gillian the ability to read his mind. "Yeah, but…"

"No buts," she interrupted. She stroked her hand down his thigh and squeezed his knee, shaking her head at him as she went. "I know it's hard to hear, but Dr. Stewart just wants to make sure we know what to expect. Do you remember what she said, Cal? That the chances of us conceiving _at all_ were at least…"

Of course he remembered.

"Million to one odds, Gill," he breathed. "I remember."

He was studying her face intently… looking for any sign of the sheer _heaviness_ that he felt. A sign that told him she felt exactly the same way.

But he couldn't find it.

Instead, he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward into a small smile and the same playful gleam that sparked their earlier pudding feast returned in full force. Then she leaned toward him, knocking her shoulder against his in a playful gesture that sent him sideways a bit. "Most people would think that's a good thing, you know," she insisted.

Cal blinked at her. He didn't understand. "That 'what' is a good thing? Having such long-shot odds?"

Her smile widened, and she knocked into his shoulder again, enjoying her ability to rattle him. "No, silly," she corrected. "Having such long-shot odds and beating them anyway. _That's_ the good thing. And most people would take it as some kind of sign. Like some kind of…"

_Oh Jesus_. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Knew exactly what she wanted him to say.

She squeezed his knee again, trying to comfort him. And suddenly he found the whole thing really, really ironic – because hadn't he been the one comforting her just a few hours earlier? He couldn't quite remember when the roles had switched.

"It's only a word, Cal. You can say it."

_No, no_… he wasn't sure he could. Because _saying_ it and _thinking_ it were two very different things, and once he gave voice to that word, all bets were off. Suddenly everything would be seen in a completely different context, with a completely different set of expectations that still had to be fulfilled. It would be a promise he wasn't sure they'd be able to keep.

And so he looked at her with wide, watery eyes and said, "Gillian, I…"

That was as far as he got, though, because Gillian had no qualms about saying that word. Quite the opposite, in fact. The whole concept seemed to calm her. "We're thirty weeks from a _miracle_, Cal. An honest-to-goodness _miracle_. And do you know what I've decided? That we've already beaten the longest odds. The rest of this? Comparatively speaking? It's just cake."

When she was finished speaking, she let out a long breath that Cal hadn't realized she'd been holding and, then she sat back in her chair looking so bloody proud of herself that he began to smile. Trust Gillian to come full circle back to dessert without even trying.

Despite everything they were facing – all the hopeful possibilities and all the terrifying risks – Cal couldn't help himself. He began to laugh. It started quietly at first… so quietly that Gillian did a double take to be sure she was hearing him correctly. But then it steadily grew – rumbling from deep within his gut and working its way to the surface, until it rang out loud and long and fanned out over his entire body as it went. It was an emotional release. One that they _both_ needed.

When it finally subsided, Cal pulled Gillian into a tight hug and tucked his head against her shoulder. Close enough to whisper into her ear if he wanted; close enough to feel her heartbeat as it raced along with his. What he really wanted – more than anything else – was a guarantee. He wanted to gift wrap one and hand it to her himself… special delivery. And yes, he knew it was irrational. But damn it, he didn't care.

Gillian's hands roamed his back, making random patterns as they held each other. "There are no guarantees, you know," she breathed. "Not with this, and not with anything. We just need to have faith, alright? And that has to be enough for now."

Bloody hell, she'd done it again; she'd read his mind without even trying. Cal pulled back a bit – just enough to look into her eyes. She never failed to amaze him. "How did you know I…?"

She simply shrugged. "Because I know you, that's how. I know you, and I love you, and you wouldn't be _my Cal_ if you wanted anything less than a guarantee. It's just in your nature to want to protect me."

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it?" he asked, nodding sheepishly as he spoke.

"No," she corrected. "It sounds sweet."

A beat later, she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't overly passionate… wasn't as heated as most of the kisses they shared. But it was honest. Her lips against his…her heartbeat against his… her life with his. _Together_. And as she pulled away – letting her hand graze across his chest and linger over his heart as she went – Cal felt calm. Totally and completely calm, for the first time in hours.

They might not have a guarantee, but they would always have each other. And maybe Gillian was right; they'd already been the longest odds. Everything else was just cake.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Another chapter coming soon, thanks for reading!<strong>_


	46. Chapter 46

_**A/N: Phew! This chapter has taken way too long to write, but life kind of went off the rails for a few weeks. Work... weather... family issues. The whole nine yards. So sorry for taking so long to update. But the good news is that this is a really long chapter, and... drumroll please... only one left to go. As always, thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing, and for sticking with me through this whole story. It means more than you know. And now, on with the chapter. :)**_

* * *

><p>Twenty one weeks.<p>

Gillian was twenty one weeks pregnant, and for the most part, everything was going fantastically well. She'd made it safely out of the first trimester… was right on schedule with her weight gain and all of her medical monitoring… and she was adjusting to a whole new set of rules as well as anyone could've expected.

There were hurdles, of course. The biggest one – a giant, snarling beast named "_Morning Sickness_" – had knocked her flat on her ass since week twelve and hadn't let up yet. And it had been a misnomer, really, because whoever came up with the "morning" part of the name had either been an idiot with a really bad sense of humor, or an uneducated fool who lacked the ability to read a clock. No, Gillian was one of the select few who'd been gifted with afternoon sickness… evening sickness… middle-of-the-night sickness… and her favorite: dawn sickness. That's right, _dawn sickness_. The small pocket of time in the early morning hours when she was so damn tired that she could barely hold her eyes open, much less stumble to the en suite in time to "aim" correctly.

And it just so happened that the second hurdle went hand-in-hand with the first: mood swings. Cal, with his overprotective, hummingbird-esque hovering ability, and Gillian – whose strong-willed nature was still alive and kicking despite the fact that she felt pretty much _like hell_ ninety nine percent of the time – had quickly adopted a trial and error system of making it through the second trimester. Meaning that Cal tried his best _not_ to annoy her… and Gillian agreed _not_ to kill him when he ultimately did it anyway.

Take her diet, for example: as per Doctor Stewart's instructions, her two main restrictions were sugar and caffeine. Which – _of course_ – pretty much ruled out every single thing she wanted to eat AND drink. And yes, there were other rules… about seafood and dairy and protein, but they were basically a non-issue. Because quite frankly, if it wasn't brewed, sprinkled, or coated in chocolate, she didn't even want to look at it. _At all_. A lesson Cal had learned first-hand when he'd innocently tried to feed her beans on toast as a "light" meal one afternoon.

"It's toast, Gill," he argued, completely dumbfounded by the look of disgust on her face as he held the plate aloft. "Pregnant women love toast. It's scientific fact, you know."

_Riiggghhtt_.

Of course they did.

Because bread – heated until a near-burned level and then coated in a thick glob of baked beans (which looked disgusting even _before_ she had an extra person swimming laps in her uterus) – made a perfect "light" lunch for a woman who could barely hold down saltine crackers and ice water before mid-afternoon.

She'd simply sighed. Her husband was a silly, silly, loveable man.

Under the weight of Cal's big puppy dog eyes and lopsided smile, she finally caved and began to chew. Slowly. Three bites later, his lopsided grin morphed into a proud smile. But the tide turned all too quickly when she was overcome with a sudden strong wave of nausea. Gillian's eyes widened in recognition as she clamped one hand over her mouth and scrambled for the nearest toilet, practically trampling him as she went.

There was no doubt about it. This baby had definitely _not_ inherited his father's taste buds.

She knelt on the cold bathroom tile, groaning as she waited for the last pangs of sickness to pass. As soon as it did – right on cue – she heard the sound of Cal's footsteps shuffling up behind her. He was wise to respect her privacy, and equally wise to know when she needed comfort. Without a word, he dropped to the floor behind her and stroked his hands across her back. The touch was reassuring… relaxing… and though she knew full well that he neither wanted nor expected her apology, she felt the need to give him one anyway. Because she loved him, and because she hated being so… _off_. So out of sorts with her own body. It left her feeling much more vulnerable than she'd ever expected.

"I'm sorry," she offered, shifting beside him until her back rested against the wall and her head tiredly lolled against his shoulder.

He scoffed as she sighed. And before he had the chance to jump ahead with whatever comical reply was dancing on the tip of his tongue, she tucked her head even further into the crook of his neck and stopped him short. "I just wish I had a little more control over this, you know?" she continued. "God, Cal, whoever coined the term "Morning Sickness" needs to suffer. Really, truly suffer. Because there's some false advertising if I've ever heard it."

Cal nodded and reached up to softly brush his fingertips against the damp hair that had fallen across her forehead. "Bit of '_bait and switch_,' that is," he agreed. "I'd gladly take it for you if I could."

And even though she knew it was just the hormones that had her on the verge of tears and not any lingering embarrassment at having nearly vomited all over him, those last few words almost made her crumble. Cal Lightman was so damned sweet when he wanted to be.

A beat later – once the threat of tears had passed – Gillian smiled. "Thank you for taking care of us," she said, resting one hand on her stomach as she spoke. "The baby and I are both very lucky to have you."

The hand that had been stroking her hair paused. She heard his breathing change – a slight hiccup that told her _she'd_ managed to catch _him_ off guard for once – and then he covered her hand with his, twining their fingers and tossing her a soft smile. "Taking care of you is my specialty, love. I'd do anything for you, and I'd do anything for our baby. Anything."

Hormones be damned, there she went again. There was just something about the way he said that word – anything – that left her feeling decidedly… playful. No, not sexually playful (_although she was pretty sure that he would've been more than willing to "take care" of her in that capacity, too_). Humorously playful. _As in_, it was suddenly all she could do not to laugh at him.

Stupid, stupid crazy hormones.

Poor Cal. First she'd nearly splattered him with beans, and now she was almost laughing at him.

Under her breath, Gillian chuckled. She just couldn't help herself. "Anything, huh?" she asked. "Is that a promise?"

"'Course," he answered. One eyebrow was raised in suspicion, but she suspected that he hadn't quite guessed what she was about to say."

Gillian shifted beside him again, until her eyes met his and the twinkle in hers was offset by the confusion in his. "Well then, do us all a favor and don't ever give me beans on toast again, okay? Because this baby definitely does _not_ have English taste buds."

Cal gave an indignant sigh but grinned at her. "Maybe it's more of a third trimester thing, yeah? Bit of an acquired taste?"

This time, her chuckle became a full-on laugh. "Don't push your luck, mister," she said, patting her open palm against his thigh as she spoke. "Or else _next time_, my aim might not be so…"

His laugh joined hers, interrupting her train of thought. "So… _what_ Gill?" he asked. "You trying to tell me that next time, it might not be so… _well-aimed_?"

She nodded happily, enjoying the comfort she felt by simply sitting there with him – side by side on their hard bathroom floor. It was completely "_them_." No pretenses. "Exactly," she agreed, squeezing his hand in hers. "Next time it might not be so _well-aimed_."

A beat later his grin widened. "Should I invest in a pair of waders, then?"

"Let's just put it like this: if you _ever_ try to feed me that… _stuff_… again, I won't be held responsible for the state of your shoes. Fair enough?"

Then it was his turn to nod. "Fair enough," he agreed. A beat later, he waggled his eyebrows at her and dropped a series of quick pecks along her jawline that took her by surprise.

Gillian beamed and blushed, and Cal waggled his eyebrows at her as he leaned in to press a softer kiss on her cheek. "Beautiful, _and_ feisty, yeah?"

She nodded as his eyes roamed her features.

"That's my girl."

* * *

><p>It was a spur-of-the-moment decision that lead Gillian into the little coffee shop around the corner from the Group one sunny Friday morning. <em>Yes<em>, she knew she really shouldn't indulge… and _yes_, she knew Dr. Stewart would probably give her hell for eating something that was pretty much the exact opposite of every food on her recommended list… but she was twenty eight weeks pregnant, damn it. And she was hungry.

And she really, _really_ wanted a muffin.

Alright, fine. It sounded stupid. She knew it did.

She simply didn't care.

Because for the last twenty-some weeks, she'd either driven or strolled right past this very same coffee shop – with its wafting smells and delicious looking baked goods – and longed for the days when she could indulge in her sweet tooth once again, without running the risk of vomiting all over the floor.

And finally… _finally_… that day had come.

She would indulge… and she would love every single second of it. She would love every morsel and every crumb, and every single blasted calorie that she'd eventually need to burn back off. All of it. Earlier that morning, Cal – for lack of a better term and because he was still very much a smartass – had called it a "_food-gasm waiting to happen_."

She hadn't been amused.

"Under different circumstances," he'd quipped – grinning so widely that she feared his face might split in two – "I'd offer to pop by afterward with a cigarette."

With a sigh and a half-smile (_because she'd never been able to stay irritated with him for long_), Gillian's subconscious instantly repeated the word as she walked up to the counter. The choices were endless; countless varieties of freshly baked confections stood before her – proudly arranged in their display case as if they'd been waiting just for her. Thank God she'd listened to Cal when he insisted on meeting her at the office, rather than coming along for a quick breakfast. ("_It's cake, love. Cake that's been carefully disguised as breakfast, mind you… but it's still cake. And thanks, but no thanks. Beans on toast it is_.") Because if he _had_ come along, she guessed that he would be having a field day with her facial expressions right about now.

"Food-gasm indeed," she quietly breathed.

Her eyes tracked through each of the items in turn, weighing her options as she tried to decide on her order. It didn't take long; the moment her gaze fixed on the oversized pumpkin cheesecake muffin near the back of the case, she was sold. And she didn't even care that it was roughly the size of her baby bump and easily worth a thousand calories. She was going to enjoy every single bite.

Every. Single. Bite.

With a smile, Gillian added a large mug of sugar free hot chocolate to her order (_yes, she knew that sounded completely crazy too_), and made her way towards the stools near the front of the room to wait for her meal. She drummed her fingers on the counter as her elbows rested on it, trying to take some of the strain off her lower back. And she was so distracted with the various sights, smells, and sounds that wafted throughout the shop that she paid no attention to the man who'd carefully taken a place beside her.

Her ears were perked for the sound of her name, and she almost didn't hear the man when he first spoke. (_Because quite frankly, anyone who wasn't calling "Lightman" and carrying a gigantic pumpkin cheesecake muffin wasn't of much interest to her_.)

In her periphery, caught sight of the man as he shuffled a bit closer. And her reaction was comically delayed. As if her eyes and her brain both knew what they were seeing, but the two halves hadn't clicked together yet.

_Holy hell_. It bore repeating: Thank God Cal hadn't come along.

"I didn't think you'd actually go through with it, Gillian," he said. His words were controlled and measured – his tone light – but this was Jack Rader she was dealing with, and 'suspicious caution' was pretty much the norm when it came to dealing with him.

An early morning sparring match was definitely _not_ on her agenda and for a moment, she considered flagging down one of the baristas and making her order "to go." But a beat later – before she'd even finished rolling her eyes – Jack was draped across the counter next to her, trying his best to appear casual and unassuming. Which was stupid, of course, because "_casual and unassuming_" matched up with Jack Rader about as well as "_calm and sedate_" matched up with Cal.

It didn't.

And they both knew he wasn't the type to make casual conversation with anyone named Lightman. Still, he smiled – casually – and he glanced up at the menu boards as if they both had all the time in the world to sit there together. He was the very picture of patient and unassuming; simply waiting for her to answer the question he'd pitched.

Gillian sighed. '_Why the hell not_?' she reasoned.

"Go through with what, Jack? The wedding?"

He smiled. Smugly. Which meant no, he wasn't talking about the wedding.

"The name change, of course," he clarified. "Couldn't help but overhear your order, and it struck me that most people would've given their first name. But you? You gave your last. _Lightman_. Still new, isn't it? Sounds a little… funny? A little foreign?"

Gillian sighed. Clearly, this was the same old Jack. "And I should discuss this with you because…?"

He shrugged. "You probably shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself. I'm a natural born observer, Gill. Goes with the profession, don't you think? I noticed… I commented…. and now here we are, enjoying a healthy debate between friends. And over drinks, no less. Something tells me your other half wouldn't like this at all, would he?"

Her order arrived that that exact moment, and Gillian was grateful for the brief distraction. Partly because nothing – not even an arrogant asshole like Jack Rader – was going to interrupt her breakfast , and partly because the simple task of holding onto her food gave her something to do with her hands. Something that _didn't_ involve slapping him. Gillian sipped her hot chocolate and unwrapped the comically large muffin. She noted the way Jack's eyes widened as she tore of a few bites – as if he was shocked to see that she was planning to eat the entire thing herself – but she didn't comment on it. At twenty eight weeks along, she was certainly entitled to a little indulgence, and she'd be damned if he was going to ruin it with his snarky attitude.

"Two points?" she offered. Then she waited until she had his full attention, popped a small bite into her mouth, and chewed. Slowly. Making him wait. Trying to prove her point that she was neither concerned with his presence or concerned with his opinion. Swallowing, she gave a smug little grin and then continued.

"_First_, this is not a debate. It's one lonely, cynical man interrupting an otherwise content woman as she tries to enjoy the largest pumpkin cheesecake muffin that money can buy. And _second_, we are not friends. Never have been, never will be. And if you can't manage to accept that simple truth after all this time, then believe me when I tell you my _'other half'_ won't think twice about knocking it into your head, permanently. Perhaps he showed a bit too much restraint the first time around."

Jack's expression morphed from amusement to scorn and then he shifted his weight, making it a point to hold himself as straight as possible so that he literally looked down at her as he spoke. He weighed his words, still anxious to keep her on the hook and not chase her away by being overly antagonistic. "So we're going to play it like then then, are we?" he asked.

Gillian couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Play it like _what_?"

"Like adversaries. Like the only common ground between us is filled with bad blood and angry words."

She laughed immediately. "I'd say that's pretty accurate, wouldn't you? I mean, the last time we spoke …"

Jack cleared his throat, interrupting before Gillian could finish. "The last time we spoke, your… _husband_… took an inappropriate amount of joy in choking me until I saw stars. He was vengeful and spiteful and angry – and you saw that just as well as I did. He's an emotional handful, that Cal Lightman. It takes a very rare woman to sign on for a lifetime of _that_ baggage."

As it happened, _his_ order arrived at that exact moment… just as she was ready to throw her better judgment out the window and cut loose with every hateful word in her vocabulary. And as Jack ran through the motions sipping and stirring – breaking his food into smaller pieces, just as she had done – Gillian took two steps backward and sighed. She gave him a once-over, reflexively scrunching up her nose as if the very sight of him made her nauseous.

Which was funny, because she _did_ feel something. A tiny little fluttering of… something that definitely wasn't baby and definitely didn't feel like it was going to pass anytime soon.

_Son of a…_

Gillian took a deep, cleansing breath and shut her eyes tightly. She needed to relax; to calm down and let the feeling pass, and then everything would be fine again. She'd be back in the land of chocolate and pumpkin and cheesecake (_oh my_), and Jack Rader would be nothing but a silly hiccup on an otherwise pleasant morning.

_Breathe in… breathe out. Relax._

As soon as the pang of nausea passed, she opened her eyes to find that he was still there – right beside her, and very attentively waiting to hear whatever she had to say. "Please tell me this is not the beginning of a pattern," she said. "_Please_ tell me you're not about to start popping up on every street corner between my house and my office for the next several weeks, plotting some kind of half-witted scheme to get me to join the dark side. It failed the first time, and it'll fail again."

Jack laughed. "The 'dark side,' Gilly? Really? I'm not all that bad, am I?"

Gillian scowled. "Call me '_Gilly'_ one more time and I'll show you _my_ dark side. And trust me – it isn't pretty."

There was a pause between them then, as Jack proceeded to treat her exactly as she had treated him. He sipped… he chewed… and then right on schedule – as soon as her eyes focused on the raisins that were sprinkled atop his oversized scone – she felt the nausea begin to return.

_Oh shit._

"You know, it's often said that couples who've been together for a long time often start to look alike," Jack finally continued. "And while you and Lightman will never, _ever_ fall into that category – which is lucky for you, my dear, because 'scrappy' doesn't suit you – he does seem to be teaching you a few bad habits, no?"

Gillian was starting to sweat. Part of her wanted to smack him – to lash out physically, and knock some sense into his pompous little head. The other part was wise enough to quickly wrap the remainder of her breakfast in a napkin and tuck it safely inside her purse. Her best guess was that she had a few minutes – five at most – before those nagging stomach pains morphed into exaggerated heaves and she spewed what little bit she'd eaten all over Jack's shoes.

Apparently, her baby's hatred of baked beans paled in comparison to his hatred for raisins. They were wrinkled and soggy and… totally disgusting. And to her surprise, every movement she made to disengage was matched by one of Jack's. She bagged her breakfast… he capped his coffee. She stood to leave… he gestured for her to lead the way, then followed a few feet behind.

_Jesus, he was infuriating._ And how was it even possible that a man who could read faces for a living had _completely missed_ the fact that she'd become physically ill after spending just a few short moments in his company?

Gillian swallowed thickly, resenting every single raisin-filled bite that he continued to take. But she refused to give in to her body… not there. Not in public. It would be… mortifying. Not knowing what else to do, Gillian huffed and quicky headed for the door. She knew he would follow; she just hoped to make it outside before her stomach completely rebelled.

"Just for the record, Jack?" she finally managed. "I would've _never_ left the Lightman Group. _Never_. No amount of character assassination in the world would've severed the ties I have with Cal – professional or otherwise. In my heart, I've always known what kind of man he is, just as I _now_ know what kind of man you are. And the differences between you are striking."

His brow furrowed. She could tell that he wanted to be smug… that at least part of him was happy to have led her into the middle of a quasi-argument… but he couldn't completely enjoy it because he was clearly having trouble seeing the bigger picture. Which was – of course – the fact that every single second he continued to eat that disgusting scone (in all its wrinkly, raisin-filled glory), she drifted closer and closer to the point of no return. _T-minus ten… nine… eight…_

"If you're trying to make a point, Gillian, please just come right out and say it. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

_God, he was infuriating. Breathe in… breathe out… relax… _

"My point is… the next time you try to poach someone from your competition, you should back it up with facts and skill, not parlor tricks and surveillance photos. Intimidation does nothing for your image, Jack. It just makes you look like a pathetic, jealous fool."

Gillian took a deep breath and clenched her fists. And in that moment she decided that raisins were the single most evil food on the entire planet. Easily a thousand times worse than beans on toast.

_Seven… six… five…_

Jack – oblivious as ever – continued to chew. He shifted his weight and bounced forward on the balls of his feet, taking plenty of time before replying. As if they both had all the time in the world to stand in front of that coffee shop. "It's just like I told Lightman months ago," he finally offered. "That photo was not planned. I did not stalk the guy, alright? I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I saw an opportunity and I took advantage of it. All for the greater good, right?

In the heat of the moment, the depth of her annoyance calmed the waves in her stomach. "In the hopes of accomplishing… _what_, exactly?" she asked. "Revenge? For that case with Alec Foster? For what you've always perceived to be Cal's betrayal, rather than your own selfish tendencies?"

Jack snorted. "Selfish tendencies, Gillian? That's a bit overdramatic, don't you think?

"Says the man who tried to frame his former mentor as a liar and a cheat, all in the name of a business negotiation."

"Yeah, well… I never said I was a nice guy, right? I'm just better than him. Professionally, and otherwise. And it's a pity that since you have that ring on your finger now, you'll never get to make a first-hand comparison. Not that a piece of jewelry will stop _him_, though. I mean, look at how you two started. He was a married man with a young child and he still fell in love with you, almost from day one. Although in hindsight, it is completely laughable that it took him nearly a decade to get in your pants. Based on what I saw with that blonde woman in the bar that night, he usually goes for the kill straight away."

Gillian stood slack-jawed as Jack grinned at her – his true colors blazingly clear as he sighed contentedly and reached for another large chunk of his scone. He chewed – loudly – and sipped his coffee, and _holy hell_ it was all she could do not to spit in his face.

Jack rustled the bag in his hands and carefully placed the last few pieces of his food inside. And as her eyes were drawn downward by the sounds of his movement, she caught sight of those horrible, horrible raisins again – _wrinkly little capsules from hell_ – and instantly, the waves of nausea came rushing back.

_Four… three…_

It was now or never. She knew she needed to turn away and head to the nearest restroom, lest she unleash her entire contents of her stomach right there on the sidewalk. But in the end – just as she knew it would – her drive to defend Cal overran her better judgment and her reply came easily. Freely.

"I guess that's the difference between you two," she said.

"What's that?"

"Your definition of _'greater good.'_ Because Cal Lightman would gladly sacrifice himself for the good of _everyone else_, just to protect them. He's done it time and time again, Jack. Even when it meant standing head-to-head with a giant tractor bomb, or being held at gunpoint in his own lab – _voluntarily_, mind_ y_ou. He does it because he's a good man. And because he cares. You, on the other hand, gladly sacrifice _everyone else_ for your _own_ good. To hell with the collateral damage. Because in your mind, as long as Jack Rader gets his way, everything else is right with the world."

Jack scoffed, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "He's not a martyr, Gillian. He's a man. A mortal one, at that. Keep putting him up on that pedestal of yours, and one day soon it's bound to topple over."

While his words did not surprise her, the malice behind his eyes caught her completely off guard and the nausea that had so briefly passed came back with full force. It was stress, of course. Stress and hormones and an unwavering urge to do something to defend Cal's name, even though her options were sorely limited. There was only so much a woman could do with words and logic, and none of those scenarios worked on men like Jack Rader.

Men who were always convinced that they were right, and the rest of the world was filled with incompetency.

Before she could think of a proper reply, Jack chortled. He took one step toward her, until a mere six inches of space remained between their bodies – and made a show of using his height to look down on her. It was arrogance, at its finest. Gillian braced herself for whatever he was about to say, as her stomach began to rebel.

Come hell or high water, she needed to find a restroom. Immediately.

But before she could retreat, Jack launched into one final tirade. "Come to think of it, he IS getting up there," hesaid. "By my count he's probably staring down the barrel of the big 5-0 and is on the fast track to a boring, safe little life with a baby and a wife and… well, let's face it, Gilly, the trappings of so much domestic bliss that it's probably throwing that '_fight or flight'_ response into complete overdrive. That pedestal I mentioned? Five bucks says it topples before the kid's first birthday."

_Two… one…_

And there it was. All systems go.

Without a single word of warning – and without a single shred of guilt – Gillian simply leaned forward and vomited all over Jack Rader's fancy wing-tipped shoes.

* * *

><p><strong>A<em><strong>**N: One more chapter coming, and I promise to do my best to get it posted within a week. Thanks for reading / reviewing!_**


	47. Chapter 47

_**A/N: I'm not quite sure where to begin, other than to say a massive, massive Thank You to everyone who has stuck with this story and left me such kind words along the way. This has been so much fun to write, and I'm a little bit sad to see it end. However... part of the delay in finishing this last chapter was because I was hung up on the thought that so many moments had been missed. There were so many different pieces I could fill in, or little scenes that I wanted to add. I didn't want this to become a 'baby' story, so I fast forwarded a bit for the epilogue, with the intention of writing a companion piece in the near future. I have no idea how soon it will be posted, but rest assured there will be more to my little alternate universe in the upcoming months.**_

_**A side note: I wrote this epilogue five times. Seriously. I second guessed every single line. And even though I'm not entirely happy with it, I needed to get it "out there" so that I couldn't overthink it anymore. Anyway, I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I have four other stories in the works now, so I hope to continue on in the Callian fandom for several months to come.**_

_**Thank you all - enjoy!**_

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><p>On the day her son turned thirteen months old, Gillian Lightman got a personal visit from "Murphy's Law."<p>

It was just a few minor things at first. The annoyance of a set of misplaced car keys… an unexpected battle with the washing machine… a doorbell that rang the _very second_ she finally got baby Andy settled in for a morning nap.

The day didn't _really_ start to kick her ass until a few hours later, when her happy little guy woke up cranky, fussy, and fevered. Pulling his ears and snuggling as close as he could possibly get, and trying to tell her what she already knew: that the ear infection beast was back, for the third time in as many months. Poor little guy.

By late afternoon, they'd seen the pediatrician, visited the pharmacy to get the latest round of antibiotics, and had patiently waited through at least fifty red lights. She'd been cursed at by random pedestrians, had her foot run over by an errant shopping cart, and gotten the strap of the baby bag stuck in the car door, twice. And to her credit, she had not cracked. She had not cursed and she had not yelled.

She did _not_ wave a one-fingered salute to the college kid who ran the red light and nearly hit them.

She did _not_ raise her voice to the new employee at the dry cleaners who lost her favorite dress.

And when Cal called to remind her of the quarterly budget meeting that she'd agreed to run (_because he _still_ refused to touch their finances with a ten foot pole_), she simply sighed into the phone, thanked her lucky stars that she was wearing comfortable shoes, and arranged to meet him for an early dinner.

And so, with a few hours to kill before meeting up with Cal, she couldn't resist popping into her favorite café for a quick snack. Home to the infamous "Shoe Splatter" incident (_as it came to be known_), Gillian was a well-known face and a regular customer. She could easily kill a few hours there, sipping tea or hot chocolate and indulging in one of their famous oversized cookies.

At least, that was the plan…

* * *

><p>"Gillian? Is that… you?"<p>

The words caught her mid-chew, and if not for her jaw being otherwise occupied with a giant chocolate cookie, Gillian was quite certain it would've dropped all the way down to the table top.

_It couldn't be him. Could it?_

The voice came from behind her, and although the polite thing would've been to turn and face him, she couldn't seem to make her body listen to her brain. She was, quite literally, stunned.

She heard two tentative footsteps lead him closer, and then he tried again.

"It _is_ you, isn't it? My God, Gilly, what's it been – four years now? Five?"

_Gilly_. She'd suddenly lost her appetite.

Another three footsteps (_no longer tentative at all_) brought him even with her table, still stuttering about how long it had been since they'd seen each other and looking down at her face with a polite smile. The look in his eyes wasn't what she'd expected at all. It was part kindness, part hesitation – as if any sudden movements might scare her away.

'_Smart man_,' she thought.

That thought was as far as she got, though, because honestly… what the hell was she supposed to say to him? Invite him to sit down and join her for a bite? Pretend that they were actually friends, or that she'd missed him, or make some little joke about it being such a small world?

None of that seemed to fit the occasion.

"You're looking… well," he continued, still standing there. The word rolled off his tongue with trepidation, as if he understood that it was no longer his place to comment on her appearance. Complimentary or otherwise.

Before Gillian could say a single word in reply, his attention shifted to the empty bench across from her own. And then without waiting for an invitation (_which she wouldn't have given anyway_), he plopped down on the cushion with a sigh. His eyes roamed her face… down past her shoulders, where they lingered over her chest for a bit (_an old habit_)… and then finally back up again. His smile was still guarded, and she thought it was horribly awkward that he hadn't even acknowledged the small boy who was sleeping peacefully in his stroller and cuddled around a stuffed blue elephant, not five feet away.

The small boy with _her_ features, and _her_ hair color, and _her_ light dusting of freckles.

Her handsome, perfect son.

Resigning herself to the fact that this man was not going to go away, she turned on her most polite smile. "How are you, Alec?"

She didn't say, '_it's good to see you'_ (because it wasn't), or '_you're looking well'_ (because he didn't). She opted for generalities instead, with just the barest trace of compassion in her voice, because… well, she _was_ Gillian Lightman, after all. Compassion was hardwired into her personality, and it didn't seem to have an 'off' switch, much as she would've liked one at that particular moment.

He shrugged, oblivious to the tension that was written all over Gillian's face. "Can't complain. I'm doing freelance work now, so you know how that goes. But things are good, for the most part."

'_Freelance work_,' she mused, nodding politely. Reading between the lines, the translation was obvious. At best, he was unemployed and sober. At worst, he was unemployed and still struggling with sobriety.

She didn't have the heart to ask for details.

The lines on Alec's face were deeper than they should've been, making him look at least ten years older than his age. His hair had thinned and was almost completely grey… his skin was pale, his eyes listless. He was miles away from the Alec she'd known years ago; the one who was solely motivated by his career and chasing his next high. Sitting with him now felt entirely foreign. They'd spent decades together, and now? It felt like they were complete strangers.

"You look happy, Gillian."

It wasn't a question at all – just a simple observation, and she felt her lips pull into a small smile automatically. Because she _was_ happy. She was over-the-moon in love with her husband, and her son, and her life. She felt… complete.

But saying any of those things to her ex-husband felt a bit like putting salt in the wounds he was trying to hide, so she chose a much simpler reply. "I _am_ happy."

"And The Group?" he continued. "Are you still…"

There was an awkward pause as his hand flitted in the air between them as he fumbled for the right words. "I mean, I assume you're still… involved with that? And that you're still working for Lightman?"

She didn't sense hostility in his tone at the mention of Cal's name, which was very surprising given what she now knew about their past. Instead he seemed… genuinely curious, and she wasn't sure how much information she wanted to share. Her life was no longer his business, and it wasn't her style to gloat.

Opting to play it close to the vest, Gillian spoke carefully. "You could say that I'm involved, yes. But I haven't ever worked '_for'_ Cal. Fifty-fifty, remember? We were partners."

Alec frowned, clearly confused by her choice of words. "Were?" he questioned. "As in past tense? As in, no longer together? Professionally speaking, of course."

Gillian sighed. Although there were a thousand possible ways that she _could've_ answered his question, she chose the high road again. She simply cleared her throat, reached one hand down to stroke her son's soft hair, and looked Alec directly in the eye. "_As in_, my partnership with Cal has changed quite a bit during the last few years. My hours have scaled back pretty significantly, given the circumstances, but I'm still very much involved with the administrative side of things. Finances, employee relations, and the like. Vested interested, and all that."

Gillian's feather light touch woke the baby, and within a few seconds he was stretching his little arms and babbling up at her with a giant smile. He was the happiest baby she'd ever known – almost always smiling, even when he was sick. And those eyes? Heaven help her, the boy was as charming as his father.

"Mama," he cooed, clapping both hands together excitedly as she reached inside the stroller to pick him up.

And _that_ exact moment – as she settled him against her side and handed him his beloved blue elephant – was when the pieces finally came together in Alec's mind. His reaction started somewhere in his eyebrows (which shot all the way to the top of his head in utter shock), then traveled slowly down his face until his jaw finally did drop open.

_No cookie, she mused._

"Mama," Andy said again. He pressed his chubby little cheeks against hers and squeezed the sides of her face (the thirteen-month-old version of a hug) and Alec looked at the two of them like they were some kind of apparition. He could see them, but… they didn't quite seem real.

"Alec Foster, I'd like you to meet Andrew. My son."

Gillian politely left him to his shock, turning all her attention to the wide-eyed boy in her arms. She kissed his face, smoothed his hair, snuggled him against her body and politely waited for Alec to steer the conversation.

She didn't have to wait very long.

Alec blinked wildly – still wrestling with that whole 'apparition' effect – but she detected nothing but sincerity in his voice when he finally spoke. "He's beautiful, Gillian. Honestly."

She smiled warmly at him in reply. "Thank you."

"Andrew is a fine name," he continued, stuttering a bit more than he should've been, but still managing to speak the words with genuine affection in his voice. "It's a… family name, isn't it? I mean, it's been a while, but if memory serves, wasn't that your…"

Gillian nodded, finishing the thought for him. "It was my grandfather's name, yes. We were torn between a few others for a while, but then when he was born, it just seemed to… fit."

Alec's brows lifted in silent question, and after a few silent seconds he couldn't help but ask. "You were there when he was born? I mean, I didn't think most birth mothers would allow…"

Without a second thought for his feelings, Gillian laughed aloud. She couldn't help herself. "Yeah, well, considering _I_ was the one giving birth, I pretty much had to be there. You can't exactly farm that task out to someone else, tempting as it may sound."

Granted, it wasn't the most tactful reply she could've given him, but still… it fit.

As the sheer shock of her admission washed over Alec, his jaw dropped again and the stuttering returned. He spoke in small, broken phrases that she didn't quite catch – and when he finally regained control of both his tongue and his brain, what came out was an apology. An honest to goodness apology.

There was a first time for everything, apparently.

"I shouldn't have assumed, Gill. I apologize, sincerely. It's just that with our history, and with all the tests…"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. They did _not_ need to go down this path. "Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "It was an honest mistake."

"Yeah, well… for what it's worth, if there's anyone who can handle being a single mother, it's you. Honestly. You'll be fantastic. Hell, you already _are_ fantastic. And this handsome little guy is proof of that, isn't he? He's… perfect."

'_Single mother_?' she mused.

Now _that_ was unexpected. Alec was so far off base that it was almost laughable, and if not for the serious expression he wore, Gillian would've probably called him on it; she would've thought he was making some kind of stupid joke on purpose. Because for all the crazy assumptions he made about her relationship with Cal – back when he was evolving from patient, to friend, to partner and _long_ before they were ever romantically involved – Alec was now completely blind to the truth that was being handed to him on a silver platter. Talk about irony.

She was wearing a _wedding ring_, for pity's sake. And a beautiful diamond engagement ring to boot. It was not subtle at all. _Surely_ he knew… or at least suspected.

Didn't he?

She wanted to laugh again. She wanted to laugh _at_ him, and tell him that he was, quite frankly, a giant idiot.

But she didn't. She fell back into graciousness without a second thought, and demurely lifted her hand from the tabletop, turning it so that he could see her rings. "We got married a few years ago, actually," she offered.

She didn't elaborate.

A beat later, Alec gave a heavy sigh and sat back further on his seat. Short of getting up and walking away, it was the most distance he could put between them. "It's amazing how things change, isn't it?" he asked.

There was a certain tone in his voice – not quite sadness, and not quite regret… but _something_ that made Gillian feel just the slightest bit sorry for him. "Things?"

He sighed again. "I mean look at you, Gill. You're… beautiful, successful, happy. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

She didn't want to ask; didn't want to indulge his spur-of-the-moment walk down memory lane. But the words fell out of her mouth automatically. "Wonder what?"

"Where we might be today, if not for the mistakes I made."

Gillian immediately fell silent. She had absolutely no idea how to respond. None at all. Because, really… how on Earth could she _possibly_ tell this man that she was – surprisingly enough – grateful for his mistakes? Grateful that he'd been an untrusting asshole of a husband and that he'd divorced her? Grateful for _every single day_ she'd had with Cal since they'd both taken their heads out of the sand?

Better yet, how could she even _think_ of telling him that she was grateful that he'd been _monumentally stupid_ enough to involve Jack Rader into their lives, because all of it – the entire twisted web of lies and broken promises – had ultimately led her to this. To _this_ moment in her life.

How could she _ever_ tell him that his mistakes had made her a stronger person?

As luck would have it, she didn't have to try.

She took one look at her son – at the wide smile he gave her (_the one that showed off his tiny, perfect little teeth and melted so many hearts) _and the way his small body snuggled perfectly against her heart – and she knew exactly what to say. It was all pretty simple, actually.

"You didn't ask his full name," she said quietly.

Alec blinked and squinted at her, and then finally said – in a very quiet voice – "It's Andrew Foster, I assume. Or maybe, Foster-hyphen-something else. Your husband's last name, probably."

_He still didn't see it._

And maybe she should've just left it alone, packed up her son, and said a polite goodbye.

But she didn't.

She smiled instead – a wide, full smile that perfectly matched the enthusiasm in her son's – and said, "His name is Andrew. Andrew Phillip Lightman. I don't use "Foster" anymore."

Regret flashed across Alec's features instantaneously. He looked almost sad. "Not even professionally? Because _your_ business… _your_ career… all of that was under _your_ name. _My_ name. And I've got to tell you, Gill, it always made me feel… proud. Like as long as you continued to use it, then a tiny little piece of me would still be with you. And that even though I fucked up _monumentally_, there was still a small part of you that respected what we tried to have together."

Monologue finished, Alec Foster sat with his elbows on the table, slouching forward in his seat and looking at his ex-wife with tired eyes. She could tell that he was looking for reassurance. That he wanted her to boost his ego, and tell him that on at least some small level she still cared.

But she didn't indulge him.

As for their past, she could easily tell that he held more than his fair share of regret. And that now, looking back on the past few years and on the way his life's path had so quickly diverged from hers – at the disparity between their circumstances that was sparked by a few presumptuous lies – Alec Foster now saw what _could_ have been.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

And although Gillian could have gloated – could have bragged about her life, and her carreer, and all the unconditional happiness she'd found with Cal – she didn't.

Because the baggage from their past didn't matter anymore.

So she simply shrugged, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss atop her son's forehead. Her reply came automatically. "The name change was just a formality," she told him. "Because what's in here? In my heart? You and I both know that it always belonged to Cal."

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>


	48. Epilogue

_**A/N: The muse struck again this afternoon, so I decided to finish with a bit of Callian goodness, rather than letting Gillian's scene with Alec be the final piece in this puzzle. Thanks again to all of you who have read / reviewed / messaged me, and especially thanks to CommonFlower for the messages earlier today. :)**_

_**Enjoy! **_

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><p>The package had been placed in her in-box, wrapped in a plain brown envelope and marked only with her name on the front. "Doctor Gillian Lightman," the label read. It was neatly handwritten, and though the sender had done his best to keep everything inconspicuous, she recognized Cal's elegant script immediately.<p>

So much for anonymity.

With mild amusement, Gillian slid the sharp metal point of her letter opener through the seal and peered at the contents inside. She saw only a few printed pages, and she quickly spilled them onto her desktop, wondering exactly what Cal was up to now.

The pages landed face-up in front of her, neatly printed and evenly spaced. There were codes and initials and checkmarks – markings with certain dates, and everything seemed to be written in some type of foreign code she'd never seen before. It was odd, yes… but she didn't give it much thought until a few moments later, when she began to straighten the pile.

And that's when she found his note. It was written on a plain white card, with the same elegant script that adorned the label: "_Looks like we still have a bit of unfinished business, love_."

Gillian grinned. Challenge accepted.

* * *

><p>Without bothering to knock, Gillian popped her head through Cal's doorway and flashed him a charming smile. His head was bent over a case file, shoulders slumped in typical form, and though he appeared to be working, she knew otherwise. He was just playing possum. Waiting for her to call him on his little delivery.<p>

"Hard at work, I see?" she offered. She took a few tentative steps toward his desk, papers tucked discreetly behind her back as she moved, and before she'd even made it halfway across the room he was on his feet, grinning at her like a little boy who was about to get exactly what he wanted.

_He was so predictable._

They stood feet apart – Cal, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and an undeniable sparkle in his eye, and Gillian with a look of amused determination set across her entire face – and with total confidence, each looked the other up and down. Slowly. From head to toe and back again, as if they had all the time in the world to simply stand there and admire the view.

He knew _exactly_ why she was there – knew that she wouldn't have been able to stay away. And even still, he did not break character. Not even for a microsecond.

"Something like that, yeah."

Gillian nodded, perfectly willing to play right along with him. Because it was fun, and because it was risky, but mostly just because she loved him. "Interesting case?"

With measured, even steps, she did not wait for his answer as she began to cross the room in front of him. Her proximity was close enough that she reached one hand out and dragged it suggestively against his desktop, letting her fingers trail along behind the rest of her body as she moved. And when she finally reached the other side – near the bookcase that separated his exterior office from his interior study, she paused to lean against the doorframe suggestively.

Black heels, red dress, and a little bit of sass for good measure. By the look on Cal's face, it was already working.

He shrugged. He was still completely in character… still completely confident. "It's nothing that can't wait until later," he said casually. "And you? Haven't seen much of you today. Every time I passed your desk you were either on the phone, in a meeting, or pecking away on your keyboard with an irritated little pout. Gotta tell you, Gill… all work and no play can make for rather tense relations around the office, yeah?"

"Is that so?" she asked. Knowing full well where his commentary was heading. Namely, that it would soon be circling around to the issue of the papers that she was still holding behind her back.

It was the proverbial angel versus devil debate. On one hand, they were at work. In the middle of the day. In the middle of the building, where prying ears and security cameras were literally all around them. Watching and listening, just as they'd been trained to do. On the other hand, it was _their_ company. It was _their_ building, and _their_ resources and they were _married_, for heaven's sake. With a son. A young, highly energetic son who'd been born a natural night owl.

The translation? Their time together at home was seriously limited. And since Gillian's hours had been scaled back, their time together at work was limited as well. They had to be resourceful. Spontaneous.

_And_ as Cal not-so-discreetly mentioned, all work and no play did create… _tension_.

Cal gave a soft noise that was part growl, part groan, then turned his body so that he faced her full on. He stood in front of his desk, still several feet away from her, but she could easily read the words that he had not yet brought himself to speak aloud. He had her right where he wanted her – hook, line, and sinker.

Under his scrutiny, she blushed. "You're crazy, you know that?" she teased. "Crazy, Cal. And I don't know why I'm even standing here right now, even considering…"

He grinned. "Yes, you do."

That made her falter, just a bit. Made the final few traces of her resistance melt away, because _of course_ she knew. She knew it as soon as she took those pages in her hand and walked into his office. He was crazy, yes… but her? She was crazy right along with him.

Still, she didn't want to make it easy. She didn't want him to think that he could do… _this_… anytime it pleased him, just to get a reaction. Because he would. He _definitely_ would.

The thought alone made her shiver, which in turn made her blush even deeper… and those, in turn, made her even more stubborn to retain the upper hand. And so she stuck her chin out defiantly and set her jaw in a tight little line. She didn't look angry at all – just stubborn. Which pretty much backfired immediately, because Cal absolutely loved Stubborn Gillian.

He _loved_ her. Loved her spirit, and her confidence, and every single solitary thing that the persona represented: passion, and energy, and a fire that was all his.

_All. His._

The smile he continued to give her turned gradually wolfish, until he finally began to approach her again. "You thought I forgot about it, didn't you?" he breathed.

Gillian's smile was slow-spreading, and she felt the excitement flow through her features one by one – from the top of her head, all the way to the soles of her feet. She remembered the conversation as if it had just happened yesterday.

"_None were as crazy as your ladder idea, though. That one topped them all, hands down_," she'd told him, her voice dripping with confidence.

"_Is that your clever way of giving me a big, fat no, then?" _he'd replied_. "'Cause I'm not sure you're giving my idea a fair consideration. It's not crazy at all… it's creative. And there's a lot to be said for creativity, yeah? Bit of spontaneity is good for any relationship."_

Her reply had been instantaneous. _"Rest assured, Cal… whenever that particular fantasy __does__ come to fruition, I guarantee you it will be a spontaneous decision_."

By the time her walk down memory lane was finished, Gillian's pulse was racing and her fingers were beginning to twitch. She was excited. Wholly and irrationally excited. And Cal could see it like a neon sign. He approached her with slow movements – painstakingly drawing everything out because he knew it would excite her that much more.

And as always, he was right.

"Where did you find these, anyway?" she asked, lifting the pages from behind her back and fanning them out in front of her chest so that they lay face up, between them. "Tell me Cal, are there any more of these little betting sheets hidden around here, or are these the only ones?"

Without waiting for an answer, Gillian dropped the pages to the floor and ran a single manicured nail up the center of Cal's chest, tracing around his buttons as she went. She felt, rather than heard, the groan that ran through him as she moved – like a low, warm rumble that radiated out from the center of his ribcage and then back again, following the path of her hand. Encouraging her.

"Just those, love. Although… we could start another round, yeah?"

She giggled. He was incorrigible. "Hate to break it to you, Cal, but there are pictures of our son all over this office, and in mine. Our employees have met him many, many times. They were at the anniversary party… at the wedding… and I can't count the number of times they've all seen us kissing. So the fact that we have sex? It's kind of yesterday's news."

In one smooth move he turned her, so that her body faced the doorway to his study, and the ladder – standing inconspicuously in the corner, not ten feet away – was directly in their line of vision. He was setting the scene… setting the pace… toying with her and with himself. "Right you are. But, what I meant was something a little more… _private_."

Cal stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he slowly walked them towards their target. She heard the lock to his sliding door engage as they passed it, securing them from any outside interruptions. With each step, he dropped a soft kiss to the shell of her ear, and by the time they arrived in front of it Gillian was wound so tightly that her breathing was barely under control. She kept trying to turn around, but strong hands on her waist and soft lips on her neck kept dissuading her.

"Sounds more like a wish list to me. You and I are both too stubborn to bet against each other. And we'll do whatever it takes to win, right?"

He chuckled, and the sound of it sent shivers straight down her spine until she arched her back against him and pressed her bottom against the undeniable evidence of his arousal. "Whatever it takes?" he breathed.

Before she could respond, his body shifted and he deftly spun her around until she was backed right against the ladder. Panting and grinning up at him so excitedly that he growled – an actual, audible growl that hit her right between the legs.

"So then, if I were to say something like, "I, Cal Lightman, bet that you, Gillian Lightman, cannot resist having a little moonlight rendezvous in the swing on our back porch, then by your logic, you would be, what…?"

Understanding his game, Gillian propped one foot on the bottom step and leaned backwards until she was lying against the wooden structure. Waiting for him… following his unspoken rules, but still finding a way to bend them just enough so that they jumped a few paces ahead.

"I would be… enjoying the hell out of each and every one of the tricks you'd use to try and win that bet."

"Tricks, Gill?" he said, feigning innocence. "Now would I do something like that?"

She giggled. Of course he would. And as for her? Well, she'd learned from the best.

Gillian pressed against his chest as she sat up and stepped away from the ladder. The momentary confusion on Cal's face was the only opportunity she needed, and seconds later she'd spun them so he was the one with his back against the rung. And with a glinting gleam in her eye, she slowly sunk to her knees in front of him. Pacing herself. Teasing him, just as he'd done to her. Looking up at his dark-eyed expression and groaning at the open, unchecked desire she found in his features.

With slender fingers, she reached for his belt buckle. "It's just like I told you before," she said with a smile. "Spontaneity _is_ the key."

And with that, there was no more talking.

And neither of them ever looked at Cal's ladder with a straight face again.

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>

(_Yes, I know I said that after the last chapter, but this time I really mean it_... :) )


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